


The Quidditch Chronicles

by DracoWillHearAboutThis



Series: The Quidditch Chronicles [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depressed Harry, Draco redeeming himself, Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Quarrels with Hermione and Ron, Quidditch, Trouble with Ginny, career choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2018-10-31 07:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10894467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoWillHearAboutThis/pseuds/DracoWillHearAboutThis
Summary: After the war, Harry finds himself stuck in a hole. This time, it’s on Draco to grab a broom and hold out his hand.





	1. September

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Readers! I'm back with my first multi-chapter. This fic is set in the Eighth Year, and each chapter will follow Harry through a month of his school year. I'm starting in September, which will be an introduction to the story in large parts. October is already written, so you shouldn't need to wait too long for an update :)
> 
> The rating applies to the later chapters. It starts off pretty mildly (aka sex free) and will get more intense as the boys grow close. 
> 
> As always, special thanks go to my little sister for giving me her opinions and letting me nag her into reading.
> 
> Please note that in this fic, I assume that Lavender has survived her injuries from the attack of Fenrir Greyback throughout the Battle of Hogwarts, as it diverts from canon

“ _I miss you,” Harry whispered, almost inaudibly._

_For a moment, he thought Draco hadn’t heard him, but then the answer came, muttered just as softly as Harry’s words had been._

“ _I miss you, too.”_

  


~~~

  


Chapter One: September

  


As Harry entered the Great Hall, he held in to let his gaze wander around for a long moment, letting the sensations of being back at Hogwarts wash over him. Everything looked the way it always had: The four house tables were set for the welcoming feast, and students gathered around them in loud chatters, a wish-wash of black and their house colours. The walls around them had been completely restored, and the enchanted ceiling above them showed a clear, starlit sky. 

Nothing reminded of the battle that had raged here mere months ago, or the people that had died in it, but Harry could still see it all in his head, like a shadow cast over the appearance of normalcy. 

Hogwarts had always felt like home to him, but now, the warmth and safety he had always associated with his school just wouldn’t seem to return. It was the Burrow all over again. He just didn’t ever feel like he belonged these days.

“Harry?,” Hermione spoke up gently, drawing him out of his head with a small start. “Are you coming?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, shooting her a well-practiced smile to counter her expression of concern. 

They made their way over to the Gryffindor table, where Harry soon spotted the rest of their housemates that had decided to return this year around: Neville, Seamus, Dean, Parvati and Lavender were all huddled close together, almost as if they were a separate entity from the rest of the Gryffindors. Neville spotted the three of them first, and his face lit up. He waved them over, alerting the others. Harry plastered the same smile back onto his face and took the seat next to him, with Ginny on his other side and Ron and Hermione across from him. 

He could hear Hermione gushing over the renovation work that had been done, but he tuned her out when Neville told him, very quietly: “I didn’t expect you to return, to be honest. I thought you’d start straight at the Auror Office.”

“I nearly did,” Harry admitted. “Ron wanted us to.”

“Then why didn’t you?,” Neville prodded, blinking at him in obvious confusion.

Harry had no idea what to answer. ‘I did not feel like it,’ seemed too vague. ‘I’m not sure I want to be an Auror, after all,’ were words he had not even dared to voice towards Ron or Hermione, and he surely wouldn’t do so now, not when he had no alternative ready at hand. 

At last, he settled on: “I wanted to pass my NEWTs first,” though it was, of course, a blatant lie. He couldn’t have cared less for his NEWTs. What he cared for, really, was the time they gave him. 

Neville, though, appeared satisfied with his reply, because he nodded, and looked past him to begin a conversation with Ginny. Harry just let them talk over his head, not in the mood to participate. He was thankful when the Sorting Ceremony started, at last, because it took the pressure of conversation off his shoulders.

  


An unidentifiable amount of time later, after all the First Year’s had been sent to their respective tables and even dessert had disappeared from in front of them, Professor McGonagall got to her feet, and the ruckus around them abruptly died.

“I welcome all of you to a new year at Hogwarts,” she pronounced, her expression solemn as she looked out over the masses of students. Her manner was as different from Dumbledore’s warm wit as could be, but somehow, Harry found it fitting for this new era. It would have felt weird to see his former Head of House stand behind the staff table and sing the school song with them. “Me and the staff are delighted to be able to offer you the opportunity of continuing your education at our usual standards from before the war. The last year has been as hard on Hogwarts as it has been on the whole wizarding world, and we have worked hard over the summer to heal all scars the battle has left on the school. While I do not suggest we forget, even for a moment, what took place here just a couple of months ago, I do hope that we can learn from it and move past our differences in this new year of change and progress. When this war was still approaching, my predecessor as Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, spoke about the value of unity in the face of danger, but I am convinced that, now that the immediate danger has passed, unity is just as existential for us. We can only succeed in creating a better future if we form it together, and all of you, whether this is your first year at this school or your last, will be the ones who will have to carry on our legacy. Within the walls of this school, we hope to build the necessary foundation our society will stand on.”

As she paused, Harry turned to shoot a fleeting look towards the Slytherin table. This year, Slytherin was the house with the least students by far; many families had decided to send their kids to a school abroad, or to homeschool them, rather than have them face the prejudices of being part of a house that had suffered a severe damage of reputation throughout the war. From their year only a total of four students had returned: Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, and, much to Harry’s surprise, Draco Malfoy. His eyes hung on the blond head of his former nemesis for a moment, but when McGonagall continued, Harry focused his attention back on her. 

“This year is bringing forth a lot of changes. For one, I am glad to present the new members of our staff team. Please let me introduce Professor Hopkins, who has kindly agreed to take over my old post as Professor for Transfigurations.” 

The silence among the students was broken by mechanic sounding applause when the new Professor got to her feet. She was clearly the youngest among the staff, maybe in her late thirties, early forties at most. She had curly black her down to her shoulders, and her expression was friendly as she nodded at the students before sitting back down to let the Headmistress continue. 

“I also welcome Professor Figg, who will be teaching Muggle Studies, which, from this year onward, will be a compulsory lesson for the years One to Five.” 

Harry blinked in surprise when his former neighbour from Little Whinging, Mrs Figg, got to her feet. She wore a nervous, rather twitchy expression. He knew that Mrs Figg, though a former member of the Order of Phoenix, had spent most her life isolated from the wizarding society, and while Harry approved of McGonagall’s bold move of assigning a Squib to a teaching position, Mrs Figg seemed panicky with the student’s eyes on her, making him wonder if she was really cut out for teaching. She sat back down as the applause began to away, taking a hasty sip of water.

“And, as a last addition, I present to you Professor Podmore, who will be teaching Defence against the Dark Arts.”

This time, Harry was not surprised to see the familiar face. Sturgis Podmore, former Auror and fellow member of the Order of Phoenix, got to his feet and smiled easily into the round of clapping students. Mr Weasley had come home with the news of him taking up a teaching post at Hogwarts weeks ago. Apparently, after his imprisonment in Azkaban for breaking into the Department of Mysteries under the Imperius Curse in Harry’s fifth year, he had never felt quite safe in his job at the Ministry again, and now that the immediate threat of the war was over, he had decided that it was time for a change of career. Hermione had rejoiced at the news and had gone on and on about how important competent teachers like him would be in preparing them for their NEWTs.

“Also,” McGonagall continued after the students had fallen silent and Podmore had taken his seat again. “I am pleased to announce that Professor Hagrid will be taking over as Head of Gryffindor House this year.”

Harry gasped at that, his eyes zooming in on Hagrid’s proud smile, before he joined into the enthusiastic cheers from his housemates, sincerely pleased.

McGonagall then went on with the usual announcements, Forbidden Forest, Quidditch tryouts and the like, and Harry had almost zoned out completely when a new, rather important announcement broke through his trance. 

“And finally, I want to draw attention to the fact that this year, Hogwarts will be home not to seven years of students, but eight. I have personally invited each student who had the misfortune of missing out on their N.E.W.T. examinations last spring, to return to Hogwarts and repeat the year. These students, seeing that they are all over seventeen and therefore off age, will be enjoying certain privileges that are not usually extended to the student body. Furthermore, they won’t be residing with the rest of their houses, but will share dorms and living quarters in a separate, neutral location within the castle. Hereafter, Professor Podmore will show the concerned students to their premises and address the special regulations for the Eighth Years. All questions related to these new conditions are to be directed to him. For all personal matters, as usual, your Head of House will be responsible.”

Harry looked over at Ron and Hermione, seeing his own shock reflected in Ron’s incredulous gaze. Hermione, on the other hand, appeared pensive, though not particularly surprised. Harry felt Ginny’s hand on his thigh, and when he glanced over at her, she was frowning, apparently displeased at the prospect of being separated from him. Harry quickly averted his gaze, a heaviness in his stomach that had nothing to do with disappointment and much more with the lack of it. 

“With that, I wish you all a good night, and a pleasant start into the new school year!”

As soon as the Headmistress finished her speech, mumbled conversation broke out, and the students began getting to their feet.

“She’s gotta be kidding!,” Ron roared, looking between Harry and Hermione in obvious outrage. “‘Shared dorms and living quarters’?! I’m not sleeping in a room with the Slytherins!”

“Oh, grow up, Ron,” Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. “Didn’t you listen to what Professor McGonagall said about unity? It’s time we stopped letting our houses define us. I actually think this is a good idea,” she concluded, staring him down, and Ron clenched his jaw in response, falling silent, though the displeasure was still evident on his face.

“I don’t know,” Seamus grumbled. “I’m with Ron on this. The last thing I want is to share my free time and space with the likes of Malfoy and Nott.” 

“Not to mention Parkinson,” Parvati injected, making a face at Lavender. 

“Doesn’t the fact that all of them came back for this year, knowing that none of you would want to see them, deserve some respect?,” Hermione demanded, irritated. “We should at least give them a chance to show us that the war has changed them.”

“Parkinson wanted to sell Harry out to Voldemort,” Ginny muttered darkly. “And so did Malfoy.”

“Malfoy apologised to me after his trials,” Harry found himself saying, without any particular emotion behind it. He felt Ginny’s eyes on his face, but he was careful not to meet her gaze. He was curious to note that he felt none of the incredulity he’d have expected to feel at the prospect of sharing a common room and dorms with the Slytherins.

“Well, I still think it sucks,” Ginny huffed finally. “It will be so boring at Gryffindor tower without all of you around.”

Most of the others mumbled in agreement. Harry kept silent.

  


“The curfew for all Eighth Years was extended to midnight,” Professor Podmore explained as the lot of them, not even 30 in total, was gathered in their new common room located in the Third Floor Corridors. Harry had felt weird when Podmore had let them here, memories of the Philosopher’s Stone and Fluffy the three-headed dog flashing through his mind, but their common room itself looked nice and cosy, furnished with a wild selection of randomly coloured armchairs and couches gathered around the fireplace, some tables near the windows, and some bookshelves in the corner.Harry had seen Hermione eye those immediately. They apparently held books that were essential for their NEWTs preparations. “And all of you are allowed to leave the castle for visits at Hogsmeade at your leisure. The Headmistress asked me to forward some words of warning, though,” Podmore added with a smile. “She appeals that you use these privileges with a responsibility fitting of your age and experience, and that you don’t let them distract you from your studies. She reserves the right to revoke those privileges should she observe any misuse of them. Other than that, you are free to spend the year as you see fit. You can join any clubs, of course, with the expressed exception of your house's Quidditch Team.”

“What?,” Ron bellowed, his face falling. “Why?”

“Because the Headmistress thinks it will put the younger students at a disadvantage if you are allowed to join,” Podmore explains, smiling knowingly at Ron’s disappointment. “You can use the Quidditch pitch whenever it is not booked, though.”

Ron’s expression hinted that this was no consolation to him, and Harry silently agreed. He was not surprised by this development - he had expected something like this after he had not been appointed Captain of the Gryffindor team - but the knowledge of not being able to play Quidditch throughout the year left him slightly depressed. 

“Anyways, regarding your dormitories,” Podmore continued. “You will not be sharing rooms with your housemates. We have distributed the bedrooms alphabetically in groups of four people. You will find your names at the doors of the three rooms in the girls’ wing,” he pointed to a door next to the book shelves, “or the four rooms in the boys’ wing.” Podmore chuckled at their groans of frustrations in reaction to those news. “Any questions?”

“Yes,” Parvati scowled. “Can we change rooms if we have a valid reason to do so?”

“No,” Podmore grinned, obviously having anticipated a question like this. “Not unless you can proof that you have a critical condition which requires for you to have a single room.”

“I may be able to come up with something,” Parvati muttered.

“That’s it, then!,” Podmore called into the round. “Have a good night!”

At his words, there was a tumult of students storming towards the dormitories, eager to check which room they had landed in. Harry raised himself from the armchair with a sigh, following after them at a more moderate pace. He already had a feeling who he was going to end up with.

He could hear Ron’s banter as he approached, and bit down on a smile.

“What?! But I want to share a room with Harry! That’s not fair!”

“At least we’re together,” Dean answered meekly. “And Rivers is alright, too.”

Silently, Harry passed some complaining students at the first two doors, none of which had his name on them. It was the third door that made him halt, staring at the name cards hefted to the wood,

  


_Malfoy, Draco_

_Malone, Roger_

_Nott, Theodore_

_Potter, Harry_

  


“I knew it,” Harry muttered, shaking his head.

“They can’t be serious!,” Ron insisted, suddenly turning up next to him. “They can’t let you room with Malfoy, of all people! Let’s go find Sturgis - you’re the Savior of the Wizarding World! If he’s going to pull something for anyone-”

“Don’t bother, Ron,” Harry interrupted tiredly. “I don’t care all that much. It’s not like Malfoy will murder me in my sleep. He’s on probation.” He ignored Ron’s incredulous expression and clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m tired. See you tomorrow at breakfast.” 

And with that, he left Ron standing in the corridor, entering his room.

  


The dormitory was a cosy, rectangular room with two beds on each long wall, and a wide window on the far one. The beds were made up in their house colours, and his roommates had already claimed theirs: Nott was lying sprawled over the mattress of the Slytherin bed near the window, right next to an empty Gryffindor bed which apparently was meant for Harry, seeing as his trunk was placed in front of it. Roger Malone, a Hufflepuff Harry had never really talked to, was settling on the bed across from Nott’s, and Malfoy was seated on the bed across from Harry’s, rummaging through his trunk.

He looked up at Harry, and their eyes met for a moment.

“Oh, our Savior has entered the room,” Nott announced, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, how blessed we are.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, apparently without thinking, and Harry snorted in stunned amusement. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him, seeming intrigued. 

“I don’t know how I deserve this,” Nott grumbled to the room at large. “Stuffed in this sardine box of a room with a Hufflepuff Nerd, our Fallen Slytherin Majesty and Saint Potter. I should have gone to Durmstrang, after all.”

“You couldn’t have afforded it, what with half your family in prison and your Gringotts vaults confiscated by the Ministry,” Malfoy drawled, much to Harry’s surprise. “So give it a rest, Nott. I didn’t come back to Hogwarts to listen to your whinging!”

Nott snarled, mumbling something about Malfoy’s parents and drawing the emerald green bed curtains shut violently. Malone stared into his direction with some alarm, apparently despaired at his luck. Malfoy just shrugged and proceeded to pull his pajamas out of his trunk, not rising to the bait. 

Harry finally crossed the way towards his own bed, dropping down onto it with a sigh. He allowed himself a moment of silence, secretly thankful that he was not roomed with Ron this year. He had spent the whole summer living at the Burrow, and the constant proximity of his friends had become… stifling. He was relieved about having a place to withdraw to, now that he was back here. 

When Harry heard footsteps approaching him, he blinked his eyes open, finding Malfoy standing at the side of his bed, looking down at him with a frown. Before Harry could identify the expression on his face, he began to speak.

“I just wanted to let you know, Potter, that I don’t plan on antagonising you or your friends this year,” Malfoy declared, quite formally. It was then that Harry realised that the blond was indeed _nervous_. “I came back here to pass my NEWTs, not to cause trouble. In fact, I would be thankful if we could be cordial with each other, seeing that we share a room now.”

Harry stared at him, perplexed, and then shrugged, a little awkwardly.

“Um, sure. I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime, to be honest.”

“That makes two of us,” Malfoy muttered darkly, and Harry cracked a smile. “So, truce?” 

“Okay,” Harry agreed, sitting up to extend his hand. 

Malfoy stared at it for a moment, appearing dazed, before hesitantly reaching out to shake it. His palm was warm and clammy, and Harry remembered that first ride on the Hogwarts Express where Malfoy had extended his hand and his friendship to him, and Harry had turned him down.

It seemed like times were really changing, after all. 

  


When Harry awoke the next morning, he felt disoriented, a major headache pounding against his temples. He groaned and pressed his face into his pillow, trying to go back to sleep, until his brain took note of the noises around him. There were footsteps and rummaging, and a displeased grunting that most probably belonged to Nott.

That’s right. He was back at Hogwarts. 

It took him another full minute to pull himself together enough sit up and rip open the curtains. Sunlight was streaming into the room from the windows, far too glaring and bright for Harry’s taste. He blinked and managed to focus his gaze enough to see that the only other person left in the room was Malfoy. Malfoy was already completely dressed and just adjusting his Slytherin tie. He noticed Harry’s eyes on him, and their gazes met.

“Morning,” Malfoy said evenly, and his lips twitched at Harry’s sleepy mirroring of his greetings, as if he wanted to smile but didn’t dare to. “You should hurry, or you’ll miss breakfast,” he advised. 

Harry nodded, stretching leisurely once more before getting out of bed and gathering his clothes. 

When he turned around again, Malfoy had already left.

  


By the time he’d made it to the Great Hall, all his friends were already gathered at the Gryffindor table.

“There you are!,” Ron called out when he spotted Harry approaching them. “I was beginning to think Malfoy _had_ killed you in your sleep.”

“Very funny,” Harry noted drily, his head pounding in protest as he took his seat next to him. 

“Are you okay?,” Ginny asked from across the table, mustering him in obvious concern. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine,” Harry lied, quickly moving to shovel some eggs and bacon onto his plate. 

“You really got the worst of it, though,” Seamus told him with sympathy. “Two Slytherins! And Malfoy of all people! Neville and I only have to suffer through Goldstein and Macmillan.”

“We’ve got Zabini,” Dean shrugged. “But he’s pretty quiet, actually. Haven’t heard him utter a word yet.”

“It’s so strange without you there,” Ron frowned. 

“Oh, listen to you complaining,” Hermione rolled her eyes at them. “I still think this is a great idea. My dorm has a girl from each house in it. I had a nice talk with Megan last night, too. I think it will actually help us connect with people.”

“You’ve got Parkinson!,” Ron scowled. “How can you be so chipper?!”

“Oh Ron, you’re so narrow-minded,” Hermione shook her head. 

“I have all reason in the world not to trust the lot of them!,” Ron insisted.

“I don’t think they’ll be causing any trouble this year,” Harry threw in, his tone neutral. “I had a chat with Malfoy last night. He said he just wants to focus on his NEWTs.”

Ron gaped at him, and Harry instantly regretted having spoken.

“You had a _chat_?,” he repeated. “With _Malfoy_?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry sighed. “Is it so hard to believe that both of us want to be civil this year?”

“Yes,” Seamus said conversationally. “Kind of. Remember the _Potter Stinks_ badges?”

“Malfoy apologised to Harry after his family’s trial,” Hermione pointed out. “I only saw it from afar, but he seemed sincere.”

“I think he was,” Harry agreed, pushing some more bacon into his mouth and thinking back to that day, to Malfoy’s pale skin and strung expression, the way he had inclined his head in a gesture of repentance. 

_Thank you for speaking up for us, Potter. I know it doesn’t change anything now, but I wanted to apologise. For every wrong I have done you and your friends. I hope you can accept that._

Harry had been too perplexed to return anything, and then he had been swamped by a horde of reporters. By the time he had finally fought them off, he and his parents had already left.

“Well, I don’t trust him,” Ron grumbled. “He probably just wants to save face.”

“Oh Ronald,” Hermione sighed. 

“I agree with Ron,” Ginny frowned, eyes still on Harry’s face. “You should be careful, Harry.”

Harry just shrugged, saved from having to answer when Hagrid turned up beside him, his face so bright and cheerful that Harry couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Heya, yeh lot! It’s great ter see yeh kids back! Been a bit sad ‘round here, after the battle, without any students...”

“It’s great to see you too, Hagrid,” Harry replied honestly.

“I’ve got yer schedules righ’ here!,” Hagrid beamed proudly. “Let’s see… Finnigan, there yeh go… Hermione, this one’s for yeh! And here’s Neville… Ah, Harry! Here!”

Hagrid handed Harry his schedule, and Harry scanned it briefly, realizing that he had Potions first period today, and Transfigurations and Defence in the afternoon.

“Quite packed,” Ron commented. “Though we have no afternoon lessons on Monday and Wednesday, that’s nice.”

“I have Wednesday afternoon off, too,” Ginny noted. “Maybe we could get together then?”

She was looking at Harry when she said it. Harry just shrugged awkwardly. 

“Well, we have to leave now and get our books” Hermione announced, getting to her feet. “Or we’ll be late for Slughorn’s class!”

Harry was only too glad to follow, and with a hasty half smile, he left Ginny in the company of Dean and Seamus. He could feel her eyes chasing him all the way out of the Great Hall, and he was relieved when they were finally out of sight.

  


They were a small number of students in Slughorn’s Potions Class these days, but unlike some minor courses that had been merged with the Seventh Year, it was offered as a separate course, and Harry was thankful for that. At least the people in his year were used to his presence. He had to shudder at the thought of sharing classes with the likes of Romilda Vane, who would do nothing but ogle and distract him.

Slughorn seemed reasonably cheerful as he dove right into an introduction of potions they would be studying this year, as well as some they would revise from Sixth Year’s curriculum. 

“For today, we’re going to start with some easy revision,” he beamed into the round, waving his wand for five potion names to appear on the blackboard. “I want you to get together in pairs and choose one Potion to work on together. If I’m correct, we are ten, so we should have five Potions ready at the end of the lesson! For any questions, just call me!”

There was some murmuring as the students began moving, and Harry’s eyes found Ron and Hermione, only to be met with matching expressions of conflict. A by now familiar sentiment of discomfort washed over Harry. 

“You know what,” Hermione spoke up with a quick smile. “Ron, you pair up with Harry, and I’ll just-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry frowned. He hated moments like these. It was not like Ron and Hermione were a particularly obnoxious couple, but none of them could deny that, now that they were officially together, Harry got in their way more often than not. He was not yet used to feeling like the third wheel in their trio, and it was grating on his nerves. “I’ll just… find someone else to work with.”

Before Hermione could protest, Harry turned around and surveyed the classroom. Most people had already paired up: Terry Boot and Michael Corner were setting up their cauldron, Ernie Macmillan was discussing their potion choice with Lisa Turpin, and Nott was dragging off a rather unwilling-looking Oliver Rivers. 

The only person left, appearing just as tense as Harry felt, was Malfoy, and somehow, that made it easier for Harry to approach him.

“Hi,” Harry said quietly, standing next to the Slytherin, who was looking at him with some confusion. “Care to work together?”

“What about Weasley?,” Malfoy asked. 

“He’ll be paired up with Hermione,” Harry shrugged, not meeting his eyes, instead scanning the potions on the blackboard. 

“Okay,” Malfoy frowned, mirroring Harry’s shrug. “Fine with me. Which one do you want to try?”

“I don’t particularly care,” Harry replied honestly. “Just choose one.”

“How about the Wiggenweld Potion, then?,” Malfoy suggested. “Most others seem taken, and I don’t feel like Shrinking Solution.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed, and he raised his wand to scribble their names under the potion. 

“Let’s get to work, then,” Malfoy nodded, and Harry followed.

  


Working with Malfoy was surprisingly relaxing. They had quickly divided their tasks, Malfoy automatically snatching all of the more complicated ones, for which Harry was thankful. Then, they worked mostly in silence, Harry preparing the ingredients while Malfoy added them to the cauldron and stirred. 

“Don’t cut the Wolfsbane,” Malfoy advised just when Harry reached for his knife. “It’s better to plug the blossoms. About three should be fine.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, doing just that.

“I thought _you_ were the Wonder Boy in Potions,” Malfoy teased, but his voice wasn’t malicious like it used to be. “I have to say, I’m slightly disappointed.”

“Don’t tell me you ever believed that,” Harry snorted, then belatedly looked around to make sure Slughorn was still across the room with Boot and Corner, and not in hearing distance.

“Well, no,” Malfoy admitted, adding some Salamander blood until their potion turned a dark indigo colour. “Though I am curious as to how you achieved such a reputation, I must say.”

“Why? So you can run to Slughorn to tell on me?,” Harry scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “It’s merely scientific interest.”

Harry had to laugh at that, and Malfoy smirked at him. Before Harry could return anything, though, Slughorn finally released the Ravenclaw boys and approached the two of them.

“Harry, my boy!,” he smiled brightly. “What do we have here?” He scanned the contents of their cauldron, humming in approval. “Wiggenweld. Very nicely done. I see Mr Malfoy has been profiting from your expertise.”

“Oh, I have, Sir,” Malfoy responded gravely and without missing a beat. Harry had to hold his breath to suppress a highly inappropriate flash of laughter. 

“Very well,” Slughorn nodded, patting Malfoy’s shoulder in a fatherly way. “Continue, then.”

As the Professor moved on to check the progress Nott and Rivers had made, Harry had to clasp his hand to his mouth to stifle his chuckles. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ron staring at him with some alarm.

“Breathe, Potter,” Malfoy advised under his breath, reaching out to add five lionfish spines. “And wash your hands, before you poison yourself.”

Harry obeyed, letting water run over his fingers to wash off the lilac colour the blossoms had left on them and watching Malfoy with open interest.

“It was the book,” Harry explained finally, making Malfoy glance at him in surprise. “I was given a used version of Advanced Potions in my first lesson with Slughorn, and it used to belong to Snape when he was younger. He had written all kind of comments on the side, and I just followed them.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“That was quite risky,” he noted.

“So I’ve been told,” Harry shrugged, smiling sheepishly.

Malfoy shook his head and returned his attention back to the cauldron.

It was only then that Harry remembered that he had once nearly killed Malfoy by blindly following an instruction from that very same book. He suddenly felt cold. 

“Do you still have it?,” Malfoy asked, and Harry just blinked at him in confusion until Malfoy added, in clarification: “The book, Potter. Try to keep your brain focused for a couple more minutes, will you? Class is not over yet.”

“No, I don’t,” Harry responded at last, ignoring the (admittedly justified) jest against him. “I guess I’ll have to find another way to uphold my false reputation this year.”

Malfoy laughed at that - honestly, and without any malice. It looked nice on him, Harry noticed distractedly. It made his features less sharp, and somehow younger. 

“Well, good luck with that,” he said finally, eyes crinkled in amusement. 

“Thank you,” Harry returned, smiling.

  


The rest of the day was not as pleasant. Hermione and Ron apparently felt guilty for leaving Harry to work with Malfoy, so they made even more of an effort to include him in everything else, until Harry’s headache was back full force and he felt like exploding. It did not help that all during lunch break, Ginny seemed determined to involve him into a conversation, when really, all he wanted to do was eat and take a breath. 

As a result, he excused himself early that night to sprawl out over his bed and do his homework in the silence of their empty dorm. 

That was where Malfoy found him an hour later. The Slytherin had apparently come to get some books from his trunk, but held in to muster Harry curiously.

“What are you doing here, Potter?,” he asked. “Hiding from all your fans?”

Harry snorted. “More like my friends,” he muttered darkly.

Malfoy frowned at that, and no one spoke while Malfoy picked up his books. Instead of leaving, though, he just kept staring at Harry, his brows furrowed.

“I guess I can relate to that,” Malfoy conceded, at last. “Pansy can be a real pain, especially at the beginning of a term. I assume Granger is not much better.”

Harry smiled at that. 

“Hermione is already creating colour-coded schedules for our NEWTs revision,” he pointed out. 

“Pansy has already summarised the complete Eighth Year gossip for me. Twice,” Malfoy countered. “And no one is even talking to her.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. 

“Now I don’t want to go out there again,” Malfoy sighed, moodily glowering at the door.

“Well, feel free to join me in hiding,” Harry found himself saying, without even thinking about it. “No nagging girls around here. Just Nott’s smelly socks.”

Malfoy wrinkled his nose at that, but he was smiling. 

“You sure?,” Malfoy checked. “I won’t be disturbing your peace and quiet?”

“Well, it’s not like we’ll be doing small talk, right?,” Harry shrugged, and when Malfoy hummed in agreement, he turned his attention back to his Potions essay. Malfoy quietly settled onto his own bed and opened his books.

They did not speak for a long time, working silently, and the occasional shuffling of pages and scratching of quill against parchment from Malfoy’s direction was a nice background noise in Harry’s head. Only several written inches later was Harry’s concentration beginning to fade, and Harry stared at Advanced Potions in frustration, none of the explanations registering in his brain.

“Why can’t pure honey be used in the Wiggenweld Potion, instead of Honeywater?,” he asked finally, looking up to stare at Malfoy inquiringly across the dorm.

Malfoy held in and frowned, meeting Harry’s gaze.

“It’s too concentrated,” he explained. “It would stick to the Chizpurfle fangs, and counteract with the Unicorn horn.”

“Ahh,” Harry nodded, noting that down.”Thanks.”

“You know, Potter,” Malfoy noted, his tone so amused that Harry rose his eyebrows at him. “I’m not your backup for Granger. Or for the snarky but helpful comments that are missing in your potions book.”

“But you’re doing such a fine job of it,” Harry smirked, and Malfoy snorted, rolling his eyes.

“What do I get for helping you?,” he prodded, making Harry roll his eyes in return.

“I thought we were past making bargains,” Harry scoffed.

“I’m a Slytherin. I’m never past making bargains.”

“Fair enough,” Harry sighed, but he couldn’t be annoyed, not when Malfoy was still smiling at him like that. “Just let me know if you need my help, then.”

Malfoy pursed his lips, contemplating that, before nodding.

“Sounds good.”

  


From that night on, Harry and Malfoy kept withdrawing to their dormitories at night, doing homework in each other’s company. They never talked about it, or explicitly agreed to meet, but they would always end up there anyways, and Harry found that he quite enjoyed it. 


	2. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, fellow Potterheads! Welcome to the second chapter of this fic. Please don't get used to the quick updates - I'm not sure whether I can keep them up! XD 
> 
> The story starts rolling in this chapter, and I hope that you'll like the direction it will take! Please let me know what you think after reading, I'm dying to hear your thoughts!

Chapter 2: October

  


“Harry,” Hermione said, grabbing his wrist before Harry could disappear into his dorm right after dinner. “We’d like to talk to you.”

“Okay,” Harry frowned, letting her lead him towards the fireplace. He sat down in one of the armchairs while Hermione and Ron took their seats on the couch next to it, their faces grave as they looked at Harry. “So, what’s up?” Harry asked, slightly uncomfortable.

“What’s up?!,” Ron repeated, incredulous and very obviously crossed. “You’re avoiding us, that’s what’s up!”

“What are you talking about?,” Harry laughed, shaking his head. “We’re together all day!”

“Yeah,” Ron scoffed. “Throughout class and breaks, but as soon as we have some free time, you disappear on us!”

“I like to do my homework in peace,” Harry shrugged. “Since when is that a crime? It’s crowded and loud here in the evenings, and my dorm is much quieter! I enjoy the solitude.”

“The solitude of Malfoy’s company?,” Hermione asked softly, scanning him with sharp eyes.

Harry flushed, feeling caught.

“He happens to like the quiet, too,” Harry returned petulantly. “How do you know about that, anyways?!”

“Roger told Ernie, who told Neville and Seamus, who told us,” Hermione shrugged. “What I’m more interested in is why we needed to hear it from them instead of you.”

“There’s nothing to tell!,” Harry snapped. “We are both doing homework in our dorms. It’s not like we intentionally meet up or anything! We don’t even talk! Not really, at least.”

“Well, that’s one more person you don’t talk to,” Hermione noted, her face grim.

“And what is that supposed to mean?,” Harry demanded.

“That you’re about as talkative as a Flobberworm these days,” Ron ground out. “You don’t talk unless you’re spoken to, and make a face as if an owl has shat in your pumpkin juice!”

“That’s rubbish!,” Harry argued.

“It’s not, Harry,” Hermione stressed. “We’re all worried. Ron, me, Ginny, Neville… We can tell that something is wrong, but you shrug us off whenever we ask. And now you’re hiding away with Malfoy of all people so that you don’t have to talk to us. Don’t you agree that it seems a little odd?”

“You’re imagining things,” Harry retorted, glowering at them. “I’m the same way as always! You’re the ones who keep nagging, asking if I’m okay, clinging to me as if I’m something fragile… Can you blame me for wanting to get away?!” He huffed at their confused faces, moodily staring off into the fireplace. “At least I get none of that from Malfoy. He never asks me to spill out my soul to him.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, in which Harry contemplated just leaving, but he knew Hermione would follow if he tried, so he stayed where he was. Finally, Hermione said, rather shakily: “We’re not trying to treat you differently, Harry. We just don’t know what to do.” When Harry did not answer, she continued: “Ginny is getting a little desperate. She told us that after the war, you said you needed some time to figure yourself out, and she agreed to wait. But you’re not even looking at her.”

“Whatever is or is not happening with Ginny and me is none of your business,” Harry ground out. “I’m not asking about your relationship, either.”

“She’s my sister,” Ron protested angrily. “And you’re my best friend! Of course it’s my-” But he was cut off by Hermione’s arm on her thigh and a sharp look. 

“You’re right,” she said finally. “It’s none of our business, and if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. It’s also okay if you want to… withdraw in the evenings, or if you get along well with Malfoy. I’m the last one to discourage you from leaving that part of your past behind you. We just want you to know that-” she hesitated for a moment, searching Harry’s eyes. “that if there’s anything wrong, and you want to talk about it, we are here. We care about you, Harry, and you’re not any less important to us just because Ron and I happen to be together now. Please don’t ever feel like you’re intruding, or like we don’t want you around.”

“I know you want me around,” Harry admitted with a soft sigh. “I’m not stupid, Hermione.”

“We know you aren’t,” Hermione chuckled, a tired smile spreading over her lips. 

“I’m not going to pretend I understand why you want to hang out with Malfoy,” Ron grumbled. “But you’re my best friend, mate, and I’m not going to tell you what to do. And if you want us to back down, then we’ll back down. Just stop being a stranger.”

“That was never my intention,” Harry clarified. “I just like having some time to myself now and then. That’s all.” 

“Alright,” Hermione nodded, though Harry could see on her face that she didn’t believe him. “Whatever you say.”

  


“A bird told me you, Weasel and Granger made a scene in the common room earlier,” Malfoy said conversationally as he entered their dorm later that night, flinging his books onto his bed.

“Parkinson is a terrible gossip,” Harry grumbled.

“Tell me something I don’t know, Potter,” Malfoy snorted, sprawling over the bed and propping his head up on his hands to look over at Harry. “For once, I was very interested in her report, though. Apparently, my name came up repeatedly.”

Harry threw him an irritated look. 

“What?,” Malfoy said innocently. “You’re talking about me behind my back, and I’m not allowed to ask about it?!”

“I wasn’t-” Harry began, but shrugged with a sigh, running an absentminded hand through his hair. “They just don’t understand why I’m hanging out with you, that’s all.”

Malfoy nodded, pursing his lips.

“Neither do Pansy or Blaise,” he admitted. “I keep telling them not to stick their noses in, or I’ll burn them.”

Harry cracked a smile. “That would have gone over spectacularly with Ron,” he pointed out, sarcasm tinting his words. 

“I can imagine,” Malfoy snorted. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, and Harry thought the conversation was closed, but then Malfoy continued: “I can’t say I haven’t wondered, too, though. You seem terribly eager to get away from them. Especially the Weaslette. Isn’t she your girlfriend?”

Harry made a face. 

“Not really, no,” Harry mumbled. “It’s complicated.”

“Rita Skeeter is terribly misinformed, then,” Malfoy drawled. “Someone should correct her.”

Harry grabbed his pillow from behind him and flung it at Malfoy. The git caught it, laughing. Harry just rolled his eyes, leaning back against the headboard and staring off into space.

“I don’t know what’s going on with me, either,” Harry confessed. “All through the war, the thought of Ginny kept me alive, basically. But now that everything is over… I don’t know. Something feels off, and I can’t explain what.”

Malfoy was silent for a long moment, and Harry wondered if it had been a mistake to speak. But then, he said, his voice surprisingly sober: “You’ve been through an awful lot, Potter. We all have. War changes people. Under extreme situations like that, you make decisions, some that you wouldn’t have made under normal circumstances… You shouldn’t feel obligated to get into anything when it’s not what you want.”

Harry stared at Malfoy’s mob of white-blond hair spread across the mattress, shocked at the sensitivity of his words. 

“But she’s been waiting for me,” Harry protested weakly. “She expects us to get back together, at some point.”

“I think it’s unfair to expect anything of you,” Malfoy said softly, still not turning to look at him. “You’ve done what everyone expected of you for so long. Shouldn’t you be able to make your own decisions now that it’s over?”

Harry’s heart beat a little faster at those words. 

“Ron wants us to join the Aurors after school,” Harry continued. 

“And you don’t want that?”

“I did. I thought I did. But not anymore.”

At that, Malfoy finally sat up and turned to meet his gaze. He was frowning, apparently displeased by something he had said, and Harry wondered if Malfoy, too, wanted him to join the Aurors, if he expected Harry to-

“Then don’t,” Malfoy admonished. “If Weasley wants to do it, he can! He doesn’t need you there with him!”

“We’ve always done everything together,” Harry pointed out with a small voice.

“Oh by Merlin, Potter, you’re not in kindergarten anymore!,” Malfoy sighed. “You can’t live your life to make others happy! Believe me, I tried, and it sucks!”

Harry just stared at him. Malfoy met his gaze straight on, without hesitation. 

“I don’t have a plan B, though,” Harry muttered. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay,” Malfoy shrugged. “I think you can afford not to make decisions for a while. You earned yourself that right.”

Harry exhaled, feeling lightheaded at Malfoy’s words, as if a rope had been loosened from around his neck and he could finally breathe again. 

“Thank you,” Harry sighed.

“For what?,” Malfoy asked, blinking.

“For telling me it’s okay,” Harry shrugged, smiling softly. “For not pushing. Everyone just keeps pushing me. It’s… exhausting. Stifling.”

Malfoy nodded, examining him.

“I can see why,” he said simply. 

They fell back into a comfortable silence, and when Malfoy picked up his book, as if sensing that the conversation was over, Harry decided that he didn’t care if Ron understood or not: Malfoy had changed, and Harry could see himself becoming friends with this new Malfoy. 

  


Two good things came out of the confrontation with Ron and Hermione. 

The first one was that not only his two best friends, but Ginny as well, had apparently decided to back off a little. Harry was glad to find he was not cornered or dragged into conversations anymore. It allowed him to relax a bit more in their presence, and while he still felt their worried eyes on them a lot, he did not have to dodge questions about his well-being any longer, which was a huge relief. 

The second one was that Malfoy and him had begun to become more friendly even outside the confines of their own dormitory. Admittedly, they had attracted some curious glances throughout the first week when they had discussed their homework in front of the fireplace or strolled through the corridors after class, but by the middle of October, the fact that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were no longer insulting each other on sight had seemingly become old news.

The only ones who seemed to have trouble accepting this new development were, curiously enough, their own friends. Ron never ceased to pull a sour face when he saw Malfoy around Harry, and Ginny looked like she was constantly tempted to throw a Bat Bogey Hex at him. Meanwhile Harry found himself on the receiving end of Pansy Parkinson’s poisonous glares more than once, and Blaise Zabini continued to pretend like he didn’t exist. 

“They mean well,” Malfoy assured him one night, when they had grown tired of their school work and started talking. “They don’t trust you Gryffindors. They don’t want to see me get hurt. Not unlike your friends, I imagine.”

Harry hummed in agreement, still finding it hard to imagine Parkinson and Zabini as caring friends. He had always imagined the Slytherin house as some kind of arena for power plays, and when he told Malfoy so, the blond laughed for at least a minute, thoroughly amused.

“In a way, you’re right,” he finally admitted. “Slytherins are primarily in it for their own interest, and no one else’s. But once we decide to let someone in our innermost circle, we would kill for them.” 

“So Parkinson and Zabini are in yours?,” Harry asked, curiosity getting the best of him. 

“They haven’t always been,” Malfoy shrugged. “But the war changed things. Blaise once helped me out of a tight spot, and we’ve grown close after that. And Pansy… We had a huge fight after our family trials, which led to tears and confessions, which resulted in a strange sort of friendship.” Malfoy chuckled softly. “She is way too protective of me, though. Sometimes I regret having confided in her.” 

“I think I know what that feels like,” Harry joked, and they exchanged a smile. “How are my chances of getting into that innermost circle of yours?,” he added, without thinking.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, but his smile grew to a smirk.

“Getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we, Potter?,” he mocked. 

“Ponce,” Harry snorted. 

“Gryffindor,” Malfoy shot back with such an expression of distaste that Harry had to laugh.

  


“It’s the first match of the season on Saturday,” Ginny reminded them at breakfast, her eyes landing on Harry. “You’re going to watch, right?”

Harry’s stomach clenched at the thought of Quidditch, but he nodded anyways. Ginny smiled at him tentatively, obviously pleased.

“I miss Quidditch,” Ron groaned, voicing Harry’s thoughts. “It’s so unfair Eight Years can’t play!”

“Actually-” Hermione began, only to be cut off by her boyfriend.

“No, ‘Mione! I don’t want to hear anything about ‘fair chances for students from younger years’ or ‘focusing on our studies’! We’re focusing enough! I just want to have some fun every once in awhile!”

Hermione grinned, but wisely kept her mouth shut.

“At least you’ve got a girlfriend, mate,” Seamus muttered, sneaking a longing look over where Lavender and Parvati were seated a little down the table. 

“What has that got to do with anything?,” Ron demanded.

“You have other means of relaxing,” Seamus countered, turning back to Ron to leer at him. 

Both Ron and Hermione turned beet red, and Harry groaned, just refraining from hitting his head against the surface of the table.

“Can we please not make any sexual innuendos about my best friends at breakfast? You will ruin my whole day,” he complained. 

“Yes, sexual frustration can be a nasty thing,” Seamus agreed with some feeling. “Though I would have thought you didn’t have any problems with that.”

Harry choked on his bacon enough for Hermione to clap his back, glaring at Seamus, who just now seemed to realise what he had said, grimacing. Harry chanced a glance at Ginny, whose face had turned stony. 

“I have to go,” she announced, her tone neutral but somehow mechanical. “Potions first period.” And with that, she got to her feet and left.

“Well done,” Dean muttered, hitting Seamus over the back of his head.

“I’m sorry,” Seamus groaned. “I keep forgetting that she and Harry… well…,” he looked at Harry questioningly. “Mate, what is going on with you and her, anyways?”

Harry didn’t answer, instead pushing his sausage around his plate moodily. 

“Drop it, Seamus,” Ron advised, and Harry was silently thankful. 

“Right,” Seamus sighed. “Anyways, if you want to fly, you can, right? The Quidditch pitch is not always booked.”

“It’s not the same,” Ron sniffed. 

“We could try to get some Eight Years together for a small match?,” Dean suggested. “I’d join in, and I’m sure Michael and Terry will, too! They only complained last night in the common room about not being able to play.”

“My dorm mate Megan and her friend Sally were on the Hufflepuff team,” Hermione said conversationally. “I could ask them for you, if you want.”

“See, including you and Harry, that’s seven people!,” Dean pointed out in obvious excitement. “How many people do we need for a makeshift game?”

“Five on each team, if we cancel out the Beater’s position?,” Ron said thoughtfully. “Maybe four. We only need two chasers on one team, really.”

“Then we’d only need one more person!” Dean grinned. 

“I could ask Malfoy,” Harry threw in, looking up when his suggestion was met with dead silence. “Oh, come on!,” he rolled his eyes. “He’s not so bad! And he loves Quidditch as much as we do!”

“Well,” Dean relented. “You two are the only Seekers left among us.”

“If he cheats or makes any trouble, he’s out,” Ron snapped, making Harry smile. 

“I’m sure he can behave himself,” Harry grinned. “I’m going to ask him later.”

“Do that,” Dean nodded. “Maybe we could even make this a regular thing? Have a match every couple of weeks?”

As they dove into a discussion about possible terms of their own Eighth Year Quidditch Competition, Harry eagerly joined in, for the first time since the term had started honestly excited about anything.

  


“Mixed Quidditch teams?,” Malfoy frowned when Harry broke the news to him later that day, on the way to Charms. “Who would be playing?”

“Us, Ron and Dean Thomas, Michael Corner and Terry Boot from Ravenclaw, and Megan Jones and Sally Smith from Hufflepuff,” Harry explained, counting the names off on his fingers. “Ron and Sally would play Keepers, and we’d be the Seekers.”

“I see,” Malfoy nodded, frown still intact.

“What?,” Harry asked, put out. “I thought you’d be excited to play Quidditch again?!”

“It’s not like I don’t want to,” Malfoy sighed. “But… Potter, nobody will want me there!”

“I want you there,” Harry argued, rather petulantly. “It’s no fun if I don’t have any real competition!”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at that, and Harry knew that he had said the right thing.

“You consider me serious competition?,” Malfoy checked.

“Well,” Harry smirked. “Matches against you were never boring, at least.”

Malfoy chuckled, shaking his head. 

“You’re sure this is okay?,” he asked again. 

“Just try to suppress your Slytherin instincts a little for the sake of harmony, and it will be fine,” Harry vowed. 

“My ‘Slytherin instincts’? You mean I shouldn’t try to win?,” Malfoy challenged, sounding slightly offended.

“I mean you shouldn’t cheat or insult anyone,” Harry clarified. “You can try to win. Doesn’t mean you will, though.”

Malfoy laughed.

“Deal. I’m in,” Malfoy nodded, eyes sparkling as he added. “And I will beat you to the Snitch, Potter, and if it’s the last thing I do!”

“That’s the spirit,” Harry praised, uncharacteristically excited at the challenge.

  


It took them a week to reserve the pitch one free Saturday a month and form teams. Ron and Harry teamed up with Michael Corner and Megan Jones, while Malfoy and Dean teamed up with Terry Boot and Sally Smith. They agreed to play one match each month for the rest of the term and add up the end results. 

“The losers have to invite the winners out to a night at the Three Broomsticks!,” Seamus suggested eagerly.

“You’re not even playing!,” Dean pointed out, laughing.

“I’m the referee!,” Seamus protested. “Of course I get invited as well!”

“I should have known you’d have your own motives in volunteering…” Dean chuckled. 

Harry, for one, found himself much more cheerful with the prospect of Quidditch in the near future, and Malfoy teased him about his mood swings being “worse than Aunt Bella on Sugar Quills”, though Harry knew that, secretly, the blond was just as excited as he was. 

It was one of the few things they had in common, after all: Their passion for flying and the chase of that tiny golden ball. 

In the end, their match turned out to be something of a social event: Roughly ten of their housemates followed them down to the pitch to watch, as well as Ginny and Luna, who sat with Hermione and made a show of cheering for Ron and Harry whenever they looked over.

“Ah. You brought your fan club,” Malfoy smirked, and Harry elbowed him, chuckling as he shot back: “You’re getting repetitive, Malfoy. Might need to work on some new insults there.”

“Can’t let that happen,” Malfoy gasped in mock alarm. “It must be grave if even you find something lacking in my rhetoric. Am I losing my touch?”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. He caught a glimpse of Ron, who was watching them with evident suspicion, but chose to ignore him. 

“Everyone ready?,” Seamus called, hunching over the trunk that held the school’s Quidditch balls, which Madam Hooch had kindly lent them for the occasion. “Gather around!”

Malfoy bumped Harry’s shoulders in a friendly manner before joining the rest of his team in the other half of the pitch circle. They were all wearing the replacement set of the old Quidditch gear they had used on their house teams, which Hermione had, after some vivid discussions in their common room the previous night, coloured in the new team colors they had agreed on: black and sapphire for Malfoy’s lot, and white and ruby for Harry’s.

Seamus opened the fastenings to free the Snitch, picking it up and holding it palm up for everyone to see. Harry’s eyes were fixed on it as the wings unfolded, and the tiny ball rose up into the air, quickly out of their sight. Harry met Malfoy’s eyes across the pitch, and the Slytherin grinned at him in clear challenge. 

Next, Seamus picked up the red Quaffle, ignoring the way the Bludgers strained against their restraints. He looked into the round, his broom grabbed tightly in his free hand.

“On your brooms!,” he called, and everyone rushed to obey. Sally Smith immediately hurried towards her hoops, and Ron mirrored her. The chasers of both teams lingered near the circle, Michael Corner and Megan Smith on his side, Dean and Terry Boot on the other. Harry and Malfoy hung back a little, watching the kick-off from a safe distance. 

“Ready?,” Seamus called with a smirk. “Go!” 

He threw the Quaffle in the air, and it was immediately lost in a tangle of robes. When the scramble cleared, Boot had it in his possession, and he accelerated towards Ron’s goalposts.

Harry watched the match with one eye for a while as he and Malfoy circled the pitch, the other eye looking out for the Snitch. Their teams were pretty evenly matched: Boot was strong in direct confrontations and had a good aim, but Megan was fast and intuitive. Corner had an excellent defence, while Dean was a very good team player. Sally’s instincts as a Keeper were a tiny bit better than Ron’s, but she lacked in mobility, which Ron more than made up for. 

The match went slower than normal matches, seeing as they were fewer players, but it was still a thrill to watch. Harry couldn’t remember when he had last felt this alive: up in the air, the cold October wind blowing through his hair, the buzz of adrenaline rushed through his veins, and he loved every second of it. 

Harry’s attention caught when Malfoy suddenly dove to the ground, and he followed without thinking, as if his body was so used to chasing after Malfoy that he didn’t even have to make a conscious decision. When he had almost caught up with the other boy, he realised that the Snitch was nowhere in sight.

“Nice try, you prat!,” Harry called, pulling up again, rolling his eyes when he heard Malfoy laugh. The other, too, slowed down and rose to fly next to Harry. 

“Couldn’t let you get bored, could I?,” Malfoy quipped. “Might as well try to wear you down.”

“As if you could,” Harry shot back, narrowing his eyes at him. 

“I’ve been flying longer than you, Potter,” Malfoy drawled, and like this, he almost resembled the boy Harry had hated for half his life. Harry waited for that sentiment to return. It did not, curiously enough. 

“I’m still the better Seeker,” Harry shrugged. “We both know it, Malfoy.”

“Your arrogance will one day lead you to failure,” Malfoy scoffed. “I’ve spent most of my summer up in the air to escape my parents. You’re hopelessly out of form.”

“Not that out of form,” Harry snorted. “You could take my glasses, and I’d still beat you!”

“I don’t need that kind of charity,” Malfoy drawled. “I’m not going to give you any excuses for your defeat. I will beat you with sheer skill.”

“Good luck with that,” Harry mocked, and with a roll of his eyes, Malfoy flew off across the pitch, resuming his watch for the Snitch.

It was much later, when Harry’s team was leading 90-70, that Harry caught a gold glimmer of the Snitch near the Hufflepuff stands. Harry accelerated, eye on the floating ball, which only halted for a moment, and then dove to flee over the pitch. 

Harry’s manoeuvre had not gone unnoticed by Malfoy, and soon, the other boy was at his heels, chasing the Snitch across the field of grass before rising back up into the air after it. 

The Snitch circled Megan in her strike, distracting her just enough to miss and resulting in Harry nearly colliding with her. When Harry was back on track again, Malfoy had caught up with him, rushing after the little ball at his side. Harry tried to pick up speed, but it wasn’t enough to get back ahead of his rival. 

The Snitch halted once more near the bottom of Sally’s goal posts, as if hesitating on its next move, and Harry knew it was his chance: He dove, stretching out his hand and feeling Malfoy right next to him, scrabbling for the ball as well. They were almost there, only a little…

Harry closed his hand around empty air. Next to him, Malfoy let out a shout of triumph, the Snitch struggling fruitlessly in his fist.

“What the bloody-” Harry gasped, gaping, but he was interrupted by a blow of Seamus’ whistle.

“Malfoy catches the Snitch! 150 points to Team Sapphire! They win 190 to 90!”

“NO!,” he could hear Ron call, but Harry was still staring at Malfoy, completely numb.

“I TOLD YOU!,” Malfoy called, his grin so wide that it threatened to break out of his face. “I told you I could beat you fair and square! I did it! I beat Harry Potter to the Snitch! Salazar, this might be the best moment of my life!”

Harry tried to make himself respond, but he was so speechless in the face of Malfoy’s childlike joy that he could only stare after him, left with the feeling that he had been hit over the head with a broom.

“Harry, mate!,” Ron whined, catching up with him and shaking his shoulder. “What happened?!”

“He was quicker,” Harry replied quietly, watching as Malfoy was mobbed by his whooping teammates. 

“Are you sure he did not cheat?,” Ron demanded, a little desperately, and Harry had to laugh at the utter despair in his voice, as if he did not want to live in a world where Draco Malfoy beat Harry Potter to the Snitch. 

“Very sure,” Harry guaranteed, finally diving to land on his feet. “Good game, all of you!,” he called to Megan and Corner. Megan smiled at him, and Corner shrugged, looking defeated, but not half as affected as Ron.

“We’ll win the next one!,” the Ravenclaw called. “Let them enjoy their head start as long as it lasts!”

“Try to convince yourself of that, Michael!,” Boot laughed as he landed next to him, patting his shoulder. 

Malfoy landed not far from him, being chatted to by an enthused Sally Smith. He seemed not quite sure what to do with her attention, but too hyped by his own victory to care.

“So, you lost against Malfoy,” Hermione noted as she appeared next to him, her eyes on the Slytherin, just like Harry’s. “That must be scratching at your pride.”

“A little,” Harry admitted, smiling when Sally slung an arm through Malfoy’s and demanded they go down to Hogsmeade to celebrate. “I’ll just have to work harder to beat him again next time.” He was met with silence, and when he glanced sideways at Hermione, he found her eyes on him. “What?!,” he asked defensively.

“Do you have a minute?,” she questioned. “I have a question for you.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, feeling weary. He envied all the other players as they made their way over to the changing rooms. “Shoot.”

“Do you fancy Malfoy?,” she asked bluntly, her eyes sharp on Harry’s face.

Harry choked, staring at her as if she had grown a second head.

“Why on earth would you-” he began, but Hermione quickly cut him off.

“I haven’t seen you smile like this in ages,” she explained, adding, when Harry opened his mouth: “Yes, I know, you missed playing Quidditch, yadda yadda, but it was how you smiled at Malfoy that caught my eye. And not only mine. Why do you think Ginny left halfway through the match?”

It was only then that Harry noticed she wasn’t around. He frowned.

“I don’t know what you two think you saw,” he muttered. “But I don’t fancy Malfoy! We get along, and I know you have a problem with that-”

“I don’t have a problem with that!,” Hermione protested. “If you’re right and he changed, I’m the last one to oppose a friendship of any sorts! But Harry, Ginny is-”

“This is none of Ginny’s business!,” Harry snapped, a little too forcefully, and Hermione’s eyes widened.

“Why are you so vehement in keeping a distance between you two?,” she prodded. “I thought you were in love with her?”

Harry’s throat closed up as he tried to find an answer to Hermione’s words. He couldn’t explain himself to her. He could not even explain his feelings to himself. 

“You know what, Hermione,” he said finally, taking a step back from her. “That’s none of _your_ business!”

“Harry!,” Hermione called, but Harry had already turned around and was leaving in quick strides towards the opposite direction. 

He walked and walked, rage and frustration fueling him on, until the Quidditch pitch was out of sight and he collapsed against a tree. He sat there for a long while, until the sound of footsteps made him look up.

Hagrid was waving at him, a cheerful smile on his face.

“Harry! How ‘bout some tea?”

  


“I see,” Hagrid sighed, sitting down in his oversized armchair when Harry had finished his story. 

“I just don’t understand why she has to be all over me!,” Harry fumed, fending off Fang’s affectionate licks to his face. “What’s going on between Ginny and me-”

“She’s worried,” Hagrid shrugged, reaching for his cup of tea. “Ginny’s been pretty upse’ lately. I’ve had her over a couple o’ times.” Guilt flooded Harry’s stomach, and he kept silent. “Doesn’t understand what’s going on with yeh, yeh see.”

“I told her I needed space,” Harry muttered. “Why can nobody understand that?,” And then, just because, he added: “Malfoy understood.”

Hagrid raised his eyebrows at that, but did not comment.

“I told her ter give yeh some time, too,” Hagrid noted. “Yeh’ve been through some nasty stuff. ‘s been bound ter wear you down, at some point. I’m not blaming yeh.”

“Well,” Harry scowled. “Everyone else surely does.”

“Yeh know tha’s not true,” Hagrid shook his head. “They’re jus lookin’ out for yeh, tha’s all.”

“Well, I can’t stand it,” Harry grumbled. “All the fussing, and questions if I’m okay, to please talk to them… Don’t they think I would if I wanted to?!” Hagrid hummed, watching him. “I don’t want to hear what they have to say. That’s why I’m spending time with Malfoy. He is not half as troublesome.”

Hagrid hummed again, lowering his cup a little.

“I’ve got ter admit, I didn’t expect yeh ter get so friendly with the Malfoy kid.”

“Neither did I,” Harry conceded. “But I like being around him. He doesn’t ask unnecessary questions, and if I want to talk, he listens. It’s easy. Much easier than being around Ron and Hermione. Not to mention Ginny.”

“Tha’s good, then,” Hagrid smiled. “That yeh boys get along, I mean. ‘bout time we left the whole ruddy non’sense behind us, fer cryin’ out loud! Tha’s what Dumbledore would’ve wanted, I’m sure.”

“Well,” Harry sighed. “You seem to be the only one to think that way.”

“Yer friends’ll calm down, too,” Hagrid assured him. “Jus’ give ‘em time. They’ve been through a lot, too. Like yeh.”

Harry sighed, taking a sip of his tea. Hagrid smiled, and changed the subject. 


	3. November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Sorry for the long wait. University was exhausting, and probably will continue to be in the next couple of months, but I will try my best to write and post regularly. Please enjoy the new chapter!

Chapter Three: November

After his fight with Hermione, the mood was tense - more tense, even, than it had been all along, which Harry really wouldn’t have thought possible. Harry avoided his Gryffindor friends whenever he could, even throughout meals, for the duration of a whole week.

It was then, on a Monday night when Harry was lounging on his bed, doing homework, that Malfoy fixed Harry with a firm look and demanded they go out flying. The curve of his raised eyebrows suggested that there was no discussion to be had, so Harry just closed his book and grabbed his broom and coat.

The air outside was cold and moist, though no rain (or worse, snow) was falling from the thick blanket of clouds. The weather was changing, the dark north wind announcing winter and all the frost it brought with it. It made the night even darker, the only sources of light coming from the headlights around the pitch and the windows of the castle.

They had no key to the school’s Quidditch utensils, but Malfoy had brought a simple red rubber ball, the size of a Muggle tennis ball.

“Let’s play catch,” he called as he mounted his broom. “We have to whip you back into shape. It’s pathetic how you’ve been moping around since you lost to me.”

“I haven’t been moping!,” Harry protested, scowling at him. “Don’t you dare get arrogant. It was one match. I’m still better than you.”

Malfoy grinned, drawing his arm back and preparing for the throw.

“Why don’t you proof it, Potter?”

And when he threw, Harry was up in the air in a heartbeat, chasing after the ball.

Hours later, Harry was out of strength and breath, stretched out on the cold ground of the Quidditch pitch and looking up into the air.

“See?,” Malfoy asked from beside him, his own voice just as breathless. “You need exercise.”

“Shut it,” Harry gasped, but he was smiling.

“It’s like having a crup,” Malfoy pressed on. “If he’s moping, you take him out for a walk and play with him.”

“I’m not your crup, Malfoy,” Harry laughed, though he understood all too well what the Slytherin was saying through his veil of sarcasm: That he had been worried, just like the rest of his friends claimed to be. Only that Malfoy’s way of dealing with Harry’s moods was much more to his taste than the endless stream of questions he was used to from them.

“You do have certain traits, you have to admit,” Malfoy shrugged. “You seem unrefined and dopey, but can be surprisingly smart when necessary. You bark, but you never bite.”

“Crups want constant attention and affection, though,” Harry reminded him, pondering if those words out of the Slytherin's mouth were more of a compliment or an insult. “I just want to be left alone.”

“That’s not quite true,” Malfoy dismissed his comment. “You want to be left alone by certain people. Still, you always end up in my company. Maybe I’m just the better pet holder.”

“You are impossible,” Harry chuckled, shaking his head.

“I’m noting that you don't deny it,” Malfoy smirked, and Harry kicked the blond’s ankle without moving from his position.

They lay in comfortable silence for a few moments, until Harry sighed, turning his head to watch Malfoy’s profile. The other looked sweaty and dishevelled, his damp blond hair either clinging to his skin or fanned out messily over the ground, and it made him look much more approachable than the stony facade he used to put up before and throughout the war.

“I had a fight with Hermione,” Harry admitted, at last.

“You don’t say,” Malfoy drawled, but he turned his head to Harry and met his eyes. “What was it about this time? Me, or the Weaslette?”

“Both,” Harry replied with a grimace. “It was stupid, honestly. She is seeing things.”

Malfoy hummed, pursing his lips.

“If it was so stupid, why are you still giving the poor thing the cold shoulder? She looks like she’s ready to bawl every time you ignore her.” When Harry did not answer to that, he added: “They’re not going to understand if you don’t explain it to them, you know.”

“I have no ready explanation, though,” Harry huffed. “That’s the whole problem.”

“You’re explaining yourself fairly well to me,” Malfoy pointed out.

“You’re different,” Harry grumbled. “You don’t make it so hard on me. You don’t push.”

“Because I know it will do no good with you,” Malfoy chuckled. “I’m a calculating Slytherin, unlike your Gryffindor friends that always runs their heads through a wall first.”

“If Hermione heard you say that she’d be so offended,” Harry joked. “She likes to think she is more logical than Ron and me.”

“Oh, she is,” Malfoy conceded. “There is no competition with your lack of logic.”

Harry kicked him again. This time, Malfoy kicked back.

“So you think I should let it go?,” Harry asked.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do,” Malfoy scoffed. “Have you listened to me at all just now?”

“I asked for your opinion, you ponce!”

Malfoy clicked his tongue and took a moment to consider.

“I think you won’t be happy in the long run unless you talk to them,” he said finally. “They’re your friends, and you want their approval. You just need to figure out what you want approval for, first.”

“I have _your_ approval,” Harry shrugged. “Maybe that’s enough for me right now.”

There was a stunned silence from Malfoy, before he asked, haltingly: “Are you implying that you're thinking of me as a friend?”

Harry snorted.

“You drag me out to play Quidditch when I’m down, Malfoy. I’m sorry to break it to you, but that’s something friends do.”

“Who'd have thought?,” Malfoy said softly, but he was smiling.

Harry laughed.

“Yes,” he agreed, still chuckling. “Who indeed.”

When Harry and Malfoy returned to the Eighth Year common room, Ron and Hermione were sitting on a couch near the fireplace, Ron buried in his Charms homework while Hermione was reading in her Arithmancy book. He saw her look up the moment they’d come in, but she’d quickly returned her gaze to the text in front of her, biting her lip in apparent conflict.

Harry met Malfoy’s eyes, who retaliated by elbowing him into the rips. When Harry returned the favour, he bumped his shoulder none too gently, bodily pushing Harry into the direction of his two best friends.

“I’ll go take a shower,” he announced, and with that, Harry was left standing in the entrance way, feeling a little lost. Like a crup abandoned by its owner, his mind provided, and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He hesitated for a moment longer, before finally, he strolled over to where Ron and Hermione were sitting, casually lowering himself onto the free spot next to Hermione.

“Hi,” he muttered, making Hermione look up at him, her lip still worried between her teeth in a nervous gesture.

“Are you talking to me again?,” she asked, and her voice was a little shaky, making Harry feel guilty.

“Yes,” he nodded, idly fumbling with a loose thread at the hem of his robes. “Sorry for being a git this past week.”

He had barely gotten the words out before he had an arm full of Hermione.

“Oh, Harry,” she sniffed. “I’m sorry! You told me not to push, and I should have respected that! I just thought that maybe I hadn’t asked the right question yet, and maybe what was really on your mind was just hard for you to say, so I… I’m sorry, it was stupid!”

“It’s okay,” Harry muttered, rubbing calming circles on her back and discreetly freeing his face from her bushy hair. He could see Ron smile at his essay without looking up.

“No, it’s not,” Hermione whispered, tears audible in her voice. “I hate fighting with you, Harry!”

“You fight with Ron all the time,” Harry pointed out, making the redhead laugh from next to her.

“Yes,” she chuckled, finally letting go of Harry and wiping at her eyes. “But I’m used to that.”

“I wonder if I should be offended that you’re more upset when Harry is mad at you than when I am,” Ron commented mildly.

“Because your reasons are always ridiculous,” Hermione shot back, a watery smile on her lips. Ron stuck his tongue out at her, making her snort. Harry shook his head at them fondly.

“You’re a pair of five-year-olds,” he vowed, leaning against the back of the couch to get more comfortable.

“And you're spending too much time with a certain Slytherin ponce,” Ron rolled his eyes. “You’re even talking like him now.”

“Am not,” Harry laughed.

“Are too!,” Ron retorted, ducking when Harry picked up Hermione’s quill and threw it in his direction.

“You were out with Malfoy just now, weren’t you?,” Hermione asked conversationally, picking up her book again.

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “He took me flying.” After a moment of hesitation, he added: “He was the one to encourage me to make up with you, in case you are going to say anything against him again.”

Ron rose his eyebrows but did not comment. Hermione smiled.

“I’m glad you can talk to him like that,” she noted. “Seems like he is becoming a good friend to you.”

“He is,” Harry smiled. “Surprisingly enough.”

She hummed, and though Harry knew she was dying to press on, she returned her gaze to her book and let the topic drop.

As the icy north wind brought the Scottish winter with it, turning the rain to snow, some new form of normalcy seemed to settle around Harry. He spent his days with Ron and Hermione, and though he didn’t discuss anything too deep or emotional with them, he had grown to be far more relaxed around them the moment they had stopped pushing him to talk. Even Ginny seemed to be giving him some space, and Harry suspected that Hermione had tipped her off. If she did, Harry was thankful.

His evenings he spent with Malfoy in their dormitory, and though they still studied most of the time (which had caused even Hermione to compliment Harry on how on top of the curriculum he was this year), more than often they just lay spread across their beds, school work forgotten as they talked about this and that.

It was pleasant, and Harry felt the constant knot of worry and discomfort in his stomach ease a little day by day. He knew, rationally, that this was only a momentum, and Malfoy kept reminding him that he couldn’t avoid talking to Ginny and his friends forever, but he chose to ignore that prospect for now. And Malfoy made it all too easy for him, because unlike his other friends, he never nagged or pressed Harry to take actions, not the way he expected Ron and Hermione to do. No, Malfoy’s ways of making him talk were more slight. He was a master of conversation in a way Harry wasn’t used to, his carefully phrased comments and calculated steering of topics working surprisingly well on Harry, and he found himself indulging in discussions he hadn’t anticipated more than once. It intrigued him, this discreet talent of Malfoy’s, but he wasn't irked by it, as he would have expected to be. He had always hated any form of manipulation, but with Malfoy, it felt different - less like an attempt of his at getting his way and more like a different approach to Harry's persona, dictated by their contrasting characters. Maybe, at this point of their friendship, he could properly appreciate how they complimented each other rather than what separated them.

One of the few things that bothered Harry was that Malfoy rarely talked about himself. He had not noticed, at first, but somehow, it had always been about him, his problems and worries, and while he appreciated Malfoy’s help, he was sure that the blond had more than a few concerns himself. He was not certain how to ask about them, though, too aware of the hypocrisy it would be to press Malfoy for answers while he threw tantrums over wanting to be left alone.

The thought kept pestering him, though, and when on one of their usual nights, after their concentration had long faded and their books lay forgotten at the foot of the bed, he found Malfoy to be rather dull and unresponsive, it kept pulling and pushing at him like an especially troublesome bunch of Cornish Pixies.

“Are you okay?,” Harry asked finally, when their conversation had trailed off for the third time, and he caught Malfoy staring blankly up at the canopy of his bed. “You are so quiet today.”

“Hm?,” Malfoy asked, meeting his gaze and raising an eyebrow in question.

Harry shrugged, ridiculously uncomfortable with being at this side of the conversation.

“Dunno,” he elaborated weakly. “Seems like something is on your mind.”

Malfoy was silent for a moment, and Harry was beginning to regret asking, when the other boy let out a deep sigh and shook his head.

“It’s nothing, really,” he frowned. “Just that Slughorn has called all of us Slytherin Eighth Years to his office tomorrow to discuss our career choices.” He grimaced. “I have a whole list of things I’d rather waste half an hour with.”

“Oh,” Harry winced sympathetically. “I can relate to that. It sounds painful, actually. I hope Hagrid won’t invite us over anytime soon.”

“It’s painful to me for other reasons than it is for you,” Malfoy pointed out grimly.

“Well, Slughorn can be a real pain in-”

“I don’t mean Slughorn,” Malfoy waved him off. “He’s an oaf, but he’s harmless. It’s just…” He hesitated, catching Harry’s eyes. “You’d dread it because you don’t know what to do with your life. Not because you have no options.”

Harry stared at him, suddenly feeling cold all over.

“But,” he muttered. “You have options, too! You're smart, much smarter than me, and-”

“And a former Death Eater,” Malfoy reminded him. “You’re right. People are dying to hire me.”

“You’ve been pardoned,” Harry reminded him. “I spoke for you! Shouldn’t that be enough?”

Malfoy chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “The world isn’t that easy, Potter. I might have escaped Azkaban, but I’m still on probation and will be for the next couple of years. Not that this threatens me, exactly - I don’t plan on overstepping any laws - but the stigma is there. I’m a security risk.”

“You were sixteen when you took your mark,” Harry scowled. “You should be allowed a second chance.”

Malfoy smiled weakly at that. “While you might think so, Potter, I don’t suspect many would agree with you. Just look at your own friends.”

Harry bit his lip, feeling embarrassed and frustrated at the reminder. When he didn’t answer, Draco shrugged, directing his eyes upwards again.

“It’s not like I need to find a job,” he continued in a flat tone. “Father expects me to live the aristocratic pureblood cliché, becoming of the Malfoy heir - make money by investments, and using that money to save the reputation of our family. But that lifestyle includes some conditions I’m unwilling to meet.

“Like?,” Harry pressed.

“Like trafficking in pureblood circles that I’d rather leave behind,” Malfoy murmured. “Like marrying a proper pureblood wife of respectable background and producing an heir just to feed him with the same nonsense Father fed me when I was younger. I refuse to do any of that.”

“I understand,” Harry nodded, watching him carefully. “What would you like to do, if you could choose?”

Malfoy blinked. ”You mean, who would I marry?”

“No,” Harry chuckled. “No, where would you work?”

“Ah,” Malfoy nodded, brows furrowed. “Well, if it were up to me, I’d like to be an Unspeakable.” Malfoy smiled. “I might want to live a respectable life now, but the more obscure side of the magical spectrum has always fascinated me. I like fiddling with things, too. I think I’d be rather good at it.”

“I’m sure you would be,” Harry grinned. “I remember the Vanishing Cabinet.”

“Yeah,” Malfoy sighed, his smile fading. “One more reminder why it’s never going to happen. The ministry would be stupid to let me into their sacred Department of Mysteries.”

“I could speak to Kingsley,” Harry found himself offering. “Maybe he could-”

“As much as I appreciate your proposal of playing your hand with the Minister for me,” Malfoy cut him off. “I don’t want everyone to be saying that I only got my job because I happened to win the Chosen One’s favour. I’ve spent most of my life playing my name and Father’s connections, and I’d rather not start again.”

“I see,” Harry nodded. “I still think you should apply. It can’t hurt to try, right? They can't do more than reject you.”

“They can ridicule me,” Malfoy sighed. “And you know I don’t react well to that.”

“Or they might be impressed by your courage and consider giving you a chance,” Harry pointed out. “The Ministry is changing, Malfoy. You might as well give it a try.”

Malfoy bit his lip, looking at him for a long moment.

“You really think so?,” he asked.

“I do,” Harry affirmed. “I’m not exactly a fan of giving up without trying.”

“Big talk for someone who is scared of telling his best friend that he doesn’t want to join to Auror Corps with him,” Malfoy returned, raising an eyebrow.

“Touché,” Harry chuckled. “Then again, you’re trying to convince me to be open-minded. How am I supposed to trust your advice if you’re not taking it yourself?”

“That’s not fair, Potter,” Malfoy snorted. “I shouldn’t have to beg Slughorn for contacts to the Ministry just to prove a point to you!”

“No,” Harry agreed with a shrug. “But you always respond so well to challenges.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Sometimes you can be awfully Slytherin-like,” he pointed out.

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “The hat actually wanted me in Slytherin, you know?”

“No,” Malfoy gasped, eyes wide and his expression one of curiosity and disbelief. “You gotta be kidding me! Saint Potter, a serpent?!”

“I think it had to do with my connection to Voldemort,” he conceded, noting how Malfoy flinched at the name. “Anyways, I asked him not to put me in Slytherin. It listened.”

“Did I really make such a horrible impression on you?,” Malfoy snorted. “To want to be anywhere but Slytherin?”

“The worst,” Harry affirmed, making the other boy laughed.

“Fine, I was an arrogant prat,” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I was a spoiled single child, and the first boy I ever approached by myself had just refused me his friendship. Cut me some slack. I wasn’t used to not getting what I wanted.”

“Well, I’m glad I could teach you that lesson, then,” Harry grinned, before adding, rather curiously: “You really wanted to be my friend that much? I always assumed your father made you approach me.”

“Oh please,” Malfoy laughed. “Father would have been horrified had he known. No, I wanted to be your friend ever since we met at Madam Malkin’s. Even more after I found out who you were.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “Well. I guess you succeeded.”

“Seven Years and some curse scars later,” Malfoy snorted, making Harry flinch in instantaneous guilt.

“I think I never apologised for that,” he muttered. “I didn’t know what the curse would do when I used it. I didn’t mean to-”

Malfoy waved him off quickly. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he stated. “The past is the past, right?”

Harry smiled at him.

“You’re right,” he nodded. “The past is the past.”

Malfoy smiled back, looking much more cheerful than when they had started their conversation, and Harry felt like he had achieved a small victory.

“Today, I want to tackle some more advanced defensive magic with all of you,” Professor Podmore announced throughout their next Defense Against The Dark Arts class one freezing Thursday afternoon, when the wet snow flakes colliding with the window glass made Harry feel thankful for being inside. “It’s been newly added to the N.E.W.T.s curriculum, and I wanted to start early on it because some of you might show difficulties with it. Others, I assume,” he smiled knowingly into the direction of Harry, Hermione and Ron, “already know how to use it, and won’t have any problems with it.”

With a flick of his wand, writing appeared on the blackboard behind him, and Harry smiled as he read them.

The Patronus Charm

“Now who can tell me about this particular spell?,” Podmore asked in his cheerful manner. “Yes, Miss Granger?”

“The word ‘Patronus’ translates to ‘Protector’,” Hermione answered eagerly. “Correctly cast, the Patronus Charm produces a pure, magical concentration of happiness and hope which guards you against Dementors. It can also be used for communication purposes.”

“Very good, Miss Granger!,” Podmore beamed. “Five points to Gryffindor. Now, can someone else tell me what forms a Patronus can take? Yes, Miss Patil?”

“It can take the form of any animal, magical or non-magical,” Padma replied. “Though Patroni in the shape of magical creatures are much less common. The form of your Patronus can also change with significant shifts of your emotions.”

“Correct!,” Podmore nodded. “Five points to Ravenclaw! Now, as most of you are probably aware, the Patronus Charm is considered a very complicated piece of magic, and has therefore never been part of any examinations before. It has proven to be of utter importance throughout the war, though, which moved the Minister to have it included in the Hogwarts curriculum. I repeat, do not beat yourself up if you can’t do it on your first try! You have more than half a year left to practice.” He waved his wand once more, and the words ‘ _Expecto Patronum_ ’ appeared under the name of the spell. “This is the incantation. Everyone, please repeat after me! _Expecto Patronum_!”

“ _Expecto Patronum_!,” the class mirrored in chorus.

“Very good! And now the important part: To successfully conjure a Patronus, you need to focus on a happy memory while saying the incantation. Not any happy memory: Make it the happiest you can think of! You have to feel the emotion in your veins when you cast.” He held in and scanned their faces. “Any questions? If not, we can move on to the practical part of this class! Please try conjuring a corporeal Patronus! In case you succeed, you may come forward and demonstrate to me! Those who already master the spell are encouraged to help classmates who are new to it!”

He motioned for them to get to their feet, and moved the tables and chairs out of the way, stacking them against the walls like they so often did during the practical parts of Podmore’s classes. Harry very much appreciated his way of teaching; as an Ex-Auror, he believed in the pragmatic approach to learning Defensive Spells, so no class was ever dull theory from finish to start.

Harry took a swift look around the class, noting that a fair number of students rushed towards the front to show their Patronus to the Professor. Not that this surprised Harry: Most of those who had taken up Defense Against The Dark Arts on NEWTs level had been part of Dumbledore’s Army, and had learned how to produce a Patronus from Harry himself. He felt strangely proud as he caught sight of Ernie’s boar.

“Come on, Harry!,” Hermione urged, and he followed them up to proof their own mastery of the spell - quite unnecessarily, Harry thought, since Podmore knew very well they could do it.

After they had been sent away with more points for Gryffindor, Harry scanned the classroom once more, searching: Neville was in a corner with Hannah and Susan, all of them trying to turn their non-corporeal Patroni into a particular form. Most of the Ravenclaws were gathered around Anthony Goldstein, eagerly watching how he conjured a silver wolf. Seamus tried to teach Dean, Lavender and Parvati, though it looked more like he was showing off to Harry. Ron quickly sent his own Jack Russell Terrier to chase Seamus' fox, earning some laughter as he joined them. Hermione had already wandered off to Sue Li, her Ravenclaw roommate, to correct her wand movements.

Harry’s gaze, though, landed on the back wall of the room, which Malfoy, Parkinson and Zabini were perched against, all of them looking rather discouraged. He watched Malfoy mouthing the incantation, his face darkening further when nothing happened.

Harry fought his way through the chattering masses, dodging the silvery fog Dean sent his way until he could take up the spot next to Malfoy, nudging his shoulder in greeting.

“You need any help there?,” he asked.

“Thank you for the offer, Potter,” Malfoy grumbled. “But I tried this a thousand times, and nothing ever happens. Maybe I’m too evil for this nonsense.”

“Oh, shut it,” Harry frowned. “You have a memory?” Malfoy pursed his lips and nodded. “Okay, then close your eyes and concentrate on it.”

“This is stupid,” Malfoy complained.

“Stop whining and do what I say!”

“Who said you could order me around, Potter?”

“Don’t be a prat! I thought we were past this?”

“Fine,” Malfoy let out a long-suffering sigh and closed his eyes, as instructed. “But for your information, I’ll never be past being a prat!”

“Concentrate, you bastard,” Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Can you see it? Your memory?”

“Yes,” Malfoy nodded.

“You’re feeling it?”

“I’m overwhelmed, can’t you tell?”

“Do you have to make this so difficult?!”

“Yes, I can feel it, Potter,” Malfoy grumbled.

Harry waited for a couple of seconds, watching him, judging if Malfoy was really trying, but he looked concentrated, so Harry was willing to believe him.

“Okay, then. Cast.”

Malfoy raised his wand, eyes still closed as he said, loud and clearly: “ _Expecto Patronum_.”

Nothing happened. Malfoy opened his eyes and scowled.

“See?,” he snapped.

“Maybe your memory isn’t strong enough,” Harry suggested. “Is it something that happened long ago, or is it still fresh?”

“It’s a childhood memory,” Malfoy admitted, grimacing. “I don’t exactly have any recent memories I’m fond of. Most things that used to make me happy have been tainted by the war one way or another.”

Harry winced, understanding that all too well. There were some memories he could not use himself anymore because they reminded him of the pain or rage it had unwittingly led to.

“I don’t think a childhood memory is strong enough,” he said finally. “Are you sure you don’t have anything more recent?”

“Of course. My life has been a piece of cake in the past couple of years. Just let me choose.”

“No need to be cynical,” Harry rolled his eyes. “How about beating me at Quidditch? You looked plenty happy there.”

Malfoy frowned, glancing over at him.

“I guess,” he muttered.

“Well, why don’t you try it with that?”

Malfoy’s eyes stayed on his face for another moment, hesitation on his face, before he closed his eyes again. He took a deep breath and held still. Then he lifted his wand once more.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!”

Harry grinned when a tiny swirl of silver fog rose from the tip of Malfoy’s wand. It wasn’t nearly corporeal, but it was a start, and when Malfoy opened his eyes, he gasped. The fog disappeared immediately, like a startled animal.

“How did you do that?!,” Pansy hissed from his other side, eyes narrowing.

“See?,” Harry teased, very pleased at being proven right. “Not too evil. You just need the right memory.”

Malfoy’s eyes were back on his face, staring at him with a new kind of intensity that Harry couldn’t quite interpret.

“ _Draco!_ ,” Pansy snapped. “Show me!”

“It wasn’t even a proper one,” Malfoy muttered, finally looking away from Harry, his eyes falling to the tip of his wand, where the beginnings of an uncorporeal Patronus had shown moments before.

“It will be, with a better memory,” Harry promised. “I guess your homework is being as happy as possible.”

“Hilarious, Potter,” Malfoy snorted, but his cheeks held a rare rosy tone that Harry’s eyes seemed drawn to like Centaurs to the stars.

“Seriously, Draco!,” Pansy grumbled, shaking his shoulder. “Show. Me.”

“I could help you, Parkinson,” Harry offered cordially.

“Shut it, Potter!”

“Fine,” Harry grinned, leaning back against the stone wall and looking out over the classroom. He caught Hermione watching him thoughtfully, but as soon as their gazes met, she looked away, quickly joining a discussion about whether Boot’s attempt at a Patronus had resembled a jellyfish or not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dying to hear what you think! Please leave me a few words?


	4. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! With this chapter, the more dramatic part of the story begins... Please don't throw any rotten vegetables at me for making our boys suffer! :)
> 
> On a more serious note, talking about rotten vegetables... While I appreciate constructive criticism, I have received some flames on this story that haven't exactly been helpful or polite, and being the Hufflepuff that I am, I'd like to request that if you can't say what you have to say nicely, then refrain from saying it at all and move on. It will keep your blood pressure down, and won't make me dread every update. 
> 
> That being said, I have begun to feel a little self-conscious about posting, so your thoughts would be very appreciated! As always, I will be anxiously waiting for your comments :)

Chapter Four: December

  


The first weeks of December passed by in a blur for Harry. The teachers had dramatically increased their workload with the impending holidays, and Harry barely had any peace of mind to consider anything outside his homework, spending every free minute either in the library with Hermione and Ron, or in his dormitory with Malfoy.

The few bright spots throughout were made up of Quidditch. After having lost another match to Malfoy at the end of November, Harry had dragged the Slytherin, and occasionally Ron, out into the cold to fly with him more often, and it had paid off when, throughout their December match, he had finally caught the Snitch for his team. Malfoy had insisted that the snow storm had just slowed him down, but Harry was determined to proof that he was still a better Seeker than his former nemesis.

It didn’t matter that they were friends, now - it was a question of pride.

As the last days of school rolled around though, Harry was hit hard by the prospect of the two full weeks he had to spend at the Burrow, in close proximity to not only a Hermione-less Ron, but also Ginny. And not to mention her horde of brothers and, much worse, her _mother_ , all of who firmly expected their romantic reunion. He had half a mind of insisting on staying at Hogwarts over the holidays, but, apart from the fact that Molly Weasley would abduct him from Scotland personally, if necessary, he figured that the solitude would be depressing even for him. He might have considered it had Malfoy been staying, but when Harry had subtly enquired for the other boy’s plans, he had told him that he would be expected at the Manor. “It’s going to be splendid,” he had informed him. “We will spend Christmas Eve reminiscing on the picturesque holidays with the Dark Lord among us, and Father and I can continue our ongoing discussion about my future over dinner. You can imagine how much I look forward to it!” 

Therefore, the Burrow, as stifling as it was promising to be, still sounded like the more sensible option. Plus, he could steal away a day or two to visit Andromeda and Teddy, who he hadn’t seen since August.

By the night preceding their departure, though, Harry felt about ready to crawl out of his skin, to the point where he couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes at a time.

“Potter!,” Malfoy snapped, glowering to where Harry was pacing back and forth between their beds. When Harry did not hold in, his tone turned sharp. “ _Potter!_ Merlin’s beard, sit down, or I’ll slam my Arithmancy book over your head! You are driving me insane!”

“You’re already mental,” Harry shot back without slowing down. “You don’t need my help there.”

“Look who’s talking,” Malfoy muttered, eyes narrowing as he stared him down. “Oh, Salazar!,” he groaned, and before Harry knew it, Malfoy was on his feet and approaching him in quick steps. Harry froze, giving himself one moment to worry, and then Malfoy had grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him into a sitting position onto his own mattress. “Enough fidgeting!,” Malfoy hissed, grey eyes flashing dangerously and looking almost intimidating from this up close.

Harry made a face, and after a moment of silence, Malfoy’s face softened.

“Is it really that horrible for you?,” he asked as he let go of his shoulders, mustering him, his brows furrowed in obvious concern. “Returning to the Weasleys?”

“No,” Harry murmured. “Yes. I don’t know.”

Malfoy exhaled and sat down next to Harry, so close that their shoulders brushed. Harry found it unexpectedly comforting.

“It can’t be _that_ bad,” Malfoy reproached. “At least, you don’t have to return to the stage of your worst nightmares. It could be worse”

“True,” Harry admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I am dying to go. It’s their first Christmas without Fred.” Malfoy winced at that. “They’ll all be on emotional overload, and I’m not sure I can deal with that.”

“An emotional bunch of Gryffindors does sound fear-inducing indeed,” Malfoy quipped, but the joke fell flat between them. “I’m sure it will be awkward, yes, but everyone grieves differently. They won’t expect you to break out into tears with them, will they?”

“No,” Harry sighed. “But Ginny might expect some form of comfort, and I just… can’t.”

Malfoy nodded, idly flattering the bunched up fabric of his trousers in an absent-minded gesture.

“It might be the perfect opportunity to talk things over, you know,” he suggested tentatively. “To get everything out of the way, and express how you feel. Maybe then, you can start over.”

“I don’t think I want that,” Harry whispered. “I mean, I care for her. I do. I just… I don’t think I can feel that way about her anymore.” He heaved another deep sigh. “I’ll miss you,” he added. “When you’re around, I feel like I can breathe a little easier.”

It had been a thoughtless confession, one that Harry assumed Malfoy was already aware of, but the fingers on Malfoy’s legs clenched into a fist at his words, and his shoulders tensed. Harry looked up to meet the blond’s gaze, only to find grey eyes already on him, bright and conflicted.

“What?,” Harry asked, taken aback.

Malfoy gulped, his throat working convulsively for a couple of moments. When he spoke, his voice sounded uncharacteristically strained.

“Then tell her it’s over,” he croaked. “Don’t be with her. There are… there are others, you know.”

“I…,” Harry breathed, lost. His heart was hammering against his chest, as if his body knew whatever it was his brain was missing. “What are you saying?”

Malfoy bit his lower lip, attracting Harry’s eyes to them just a moment before those lips where on his. Harry sat completely still, unable to even breathe. The kiss was gentle, tentative, and over before Harry’s mind had even processed what was happening. Malfoy did not go far, though; he stayed just close enough that Harry could meet the grey orbs without going cross-eyed. Slim, long fingers found his and clung to them, trembling violently.

“Don’t be with her,” Malfoy whispered. “Be with me.”

Harry just stared, not comprehending what was happening. His mind felt strangely blank, like a freshly wiped blackboard, even though his heart still threatened to break through his skin.

The silence between them was thick, and when it became apparent that Harry had no ready answer, the grey eyes shuttered. Malfoy drew back abruptly, dropping Harry’s hand, which felt cold without Malfoy’s fingers wrapped around it.

“Bugger,” Malfoy breathed. “Shite. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry muttered, still quite unable to move, even when Malfoy moaned and ran a nervous hand through his hair until the usually impeccable strands of platinum gold fell into his face, hiding it from Harry’s sight.

“I misunderstood,” Malfoy mumbled, his voice muffled. “Please forget this ever happened.”

“But,” Harry began, finally unfreezing and turning to face him. “I-”

“Don’t, Potter,” Malfoy shook his head, getting to his feet, but Harry reached out, the quick reflexes of a Seeker coming in handy as his fingers closed around Malfoy’s wrist, quickly pulling him back onto the mattress. “Don’t make this any more humiliating than it already is,” Malfoy begged, not looking at him. Harry still refused to let him go.

“Please explain it to me,” Harry requested.

“Oh, please,” Malfoy scoffed, his voice harsh. “I _know_ you’re not actually that thick! I kissed you and asked you to be with me. What else could this mean, apart from the obvious?!”

Harry gulped, his grip on Malfoy tightening.

“You like me?,” checked, watching how the other boy’s shoulders moved in a one-shouldered shrug. “Since when?”

“Does it matter?,” he asked, his voice a little desperate. “I had no ulterior motives when approaching you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I would have been stupid to think I could-” He cut himself off, gulping. “I _am_ stupid,” he hissed.

Harry took a shaky breath, trying to remember any signs that he had missed, and coming up blank.

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy repeated, his voice rough. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No,” Harry muttered, an overwhelming wave of guilt flooding through him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice. I never-” he broke off, realising how cruel it would sound to finish the sentence.

Malfoy understood, anyways.

“You never thought of me this way,” he nodded. “I know.”

“I’ve been so caught up in this whole Ginny thing,” Harry stressed. “I just-”

“It’s okay,” Malfoy nodded, and finally, the Slytherin lifted his head to meet his eyes again. He looked tired, his expression strained, as if he was trying hard to keep his emotions off his face. It hurt Harry to look at him. “I don’t blame you. Please don’t worry about it.”

Harry desperately tried to find words, anything that would fix this, but his mind was a mess, and he couldn’t come up with anything. Malfoy gently but firmly pulled his arm out of Harry’s grip and got to his feet.

“Have a happy holiday,” he said, sending him a weak smile, before turning around and taking quick strides towards the door. He opened it and ducked out, letting it close softly behind him.

Harry stared after him, feeling numb.

  


That night, Malfoy only returned to their dormitory when Malone and Nott were getting ready for bed, preventing Harry from speaking to him. When he woke up the next morning, Malfoy had already left for the Manor.

To say that Harry felt horrible would be a terrible understatement. He had barely been able to sleep that night. Instead, he spent most of the time blankly staring up at the canopy of his bed. His mind seemed to be even more knotted and twisted in the darkness than it had in the light torches had cast over their dormitory hours before, with those grey eyes staring him down, hope- and fearful all at once.

He had had no idea of Malfoy’s feelings. Of course, Hermione had thrown her assumptions at him nearly two months ago, but they had been about _him_ and _his feelings_. Feelings that had been a deep, black swamp Harry had no hope treading through. Being around Malfoy had helped him find other passages, crossovers that had allowed him just to leave the swamp be and not eye the possible disaster that bubbled inside too closely. But now, it felt like this bridge Malfoy had helped him build had crumbled right under his feet, and he had dropped right into the dangerous waters, without any hope of coming up for air.

“Harry?,” Ginny asked softly, making him look up from his untouched breakfast. “Are you alright? You look ill.”

Harry felt ill. His head was throbbing in a way it hadn’t done for weeks, and his stomach was churning when he dared to only look at the food on the table. Ginny, though, was watching him with such concern that he felt like voicing those complaints would bring a whole flood of fussing, and he couldn’t deal with anyone’s attention right now, be it her, Hermione, Ron’s, or anyone but the one person who was avoiding him. For a moment, he wondered if he had to throw up.

“I’m fine,” Harry brought out, perfectly aware of how unconvincing he sounded. He contemplated making an effort to smile, but decided that he didn’t feel up to it. Soon, they would be at the Burrow, with the whole Weasley family buzzing around him. Molly would watch him like a hawk, attacking at any sign of weakness, which meant he needed all his energy to keep up his guard around them. He had no reserves left for Ginny, even as he felt her eyes attached to him like they were part of his body rather than hers.

The morning passed in a blur - Hermione took her leave right after breakfast to catch the Hogwarts Express in Hogsmeade. She crushed him in a tight hug, and the expression on her face told him that she, too, knew that something was wrong, but apart from asking him to write, she kept from interrogating him, much to Harry’s relief.

Harry, Ron and Ginny took the Floo over to the Burrow, and Molly was already waiting for them, in full fussing mode, and while Harry loved what was basically his adoptive family, this time, he felt like he was suffocating a little more with every smile he faked.

He wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Though, no, that wasn’t right. He wanted to be in his dormitory at Hogwarts, with no one for company but Draco Malfoy.

The thought made him want to cry actual tears for the first time since the funeral of Remus and Tonks.

  


The holidays crawled along slower than a Flobberworm on its journey across the British island. Had Harry not been counting the days (Four days since he left Hogwarts. Three since he had sent Malfoy a Christmas card, and had received no answer), he would have actually been led to believe that he had been at the Burrow for weeks rather than days.

He had always enjoyed the size of the Weasley family, but the big downside of having so many people squeezed into one house was that, naturally, you were never quite alone. When he went up to Ron’s room for some privacy, his best friend wouldn’t be far behind. When he went out to the gardens, he would run into Mr Weasley, who was just on his way back from his little shed to the house, or Mrs Weasley, who had collected some eggs from the hens. When he lingered in the corridors, he would inevitably run into Ginny, or George, or Bill, or Fleur. It was a little like trying to navigate the Hogwarts castle at night without an invisibility cloak or the Marauder’s Map for help - one way or another, you’d run into someone.

So it happened the evening of Boxing Day as well, when Harry had slipped out onto the terrace for a breath of fresh air while a Celestina Warbeck record played loudly in the living room, only to be followed outside by Ginny a minute after his escape.

“Are you okay?,” she asked tentatively, and Harry almost rolled his eyes at the question. If he’d get a Knut for every time he was asked this question…

“I’m fine,” Harry returned, and his voice came out a little more harshly than he had intended. Ginny raised her eyebrows at him pointedly. “I’m just having a headache,” he added, which was no lie, by all means. Ginny sighed, coming to stand next to him, so close that their arms brushed together at their sides.

“You seem to be having lots of headaches,” she noted, and there was an edge to her voice. “Is being around us really this vexing to you?”

Harry inhaled a deep mouthful of fresh winter air, hoping the find the energy to lie convincingly.

“No, not at all,” he replied, but his words were only met with a snort of Ginny’s.

“ _Harry_ ,” she scoffed. “Do you _really_ think I’m that stupid? Because I’m starting to feel like you’re insulting my intellect.”

Harry kept quiet, praying silently for her just to leave him alone. He couldn’t have this conversation, not now, when he was torn into pieces about Malfoy. The silence dragged on and finally, Ginny moved to face him, her bright brown eyes staring him down with a determination that was reminiscent of the time they had started their relationship, before the war had begun and everything had gone to hell.

Harry knew what was going to happen a moment before Ginny leant up to press her lips against his. It was a gentle kiss, and Harry closed his eyes, willing himself to feel. Ginny’s touch was familiar, her flowery scent surprisingly comforting, but it didn’t make his skin tingle and his breath quicken the way it used to. He felt her slim fingers rest on his shoulder, lightly brushing his neck, and suddenly, his mind threw him back to when Malfoy had leaned in to kiss him.

He pulled back abruptly, almost choking at a gulp of cold air. Ginny took a hesitant step away from him, her hand falling away from him, eyes still on his face. Harry could see the emotions passing over her face - hurt, rejection, sadness, and finally, they were replaced by resignation.

“This isn’t working anymore,” she stated calmly, her voice surprisingly gentle, devoid of the anger Harry had expected. “Is it?”

Harry shook his head, unable to find any words.

“Okay,” she conceded, closing her eyes again for a moment, then opening them once more to meet his gaze. “It’s okay, Harry,” she stressed. “I’ve been expecting this. I’d rather we end this now, once and for all, than us hanging around in between forever. I’m just so tired of not knowing what to feel,” she explained, with a sigh. “You told me to wait, and I tried, but you are not even looking at me. It’s as if you are afraid of me. And every time I considered just ending things, or only allowed myself to be mad at you, I felt guilty, too.” With a deep intake of breath, she continued: “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything. You don’t owe anyone, Harry. If you don’t want to be with me, you don’t have to feel bad about it. You can just say it.”

“I thought I wanted to be with you,” Harry spoke up, finally. His voice sounded fragile, like it would break any moment. “For most of the war, the thought of you kept me going. You gave me a purpose to fight. But all of that fell away after the battle.” He gulped. “I don’t know what’s going on with me, either,” Harry confessed.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Ginny repeated, reaching out to squeeze his upper arm. “If it doesn’t feel right anymore, it doesn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. “I left you waiting for so long.”

“I’m not going to pretend I’d rather you hadn’t ignored me all those months,” she pointed out, cracking a small smile. “But I expected this. I was just waiting for you to finally say it.”

“So you’re not going to hate me?,” Harry checked, feeling rather stupid, voicing this fear out loud. Like a five-year-old begging for affection.

“Oh, Harry,” she chuckled. “You can’t honestly think that I would hate you.”

“You can be fierce,” Harry reminded her, smiling tentatively. “You have to admit.”

“Maybe,” Ginny laughed. “But I always had a soft spot for you. I don’t think that will ever go away, no matter how much time you spend hiding from me.” She fixed him with a firm look at those words, adding: “I hope we are done with that now, though. I demand that you go back to being my friend.”

“I’m not really that much fun to be around lately, though,” Harry warned, half-jokingly, half-sincere. “But if you still want to be my friend, I’m here.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and reached out to pull him into a tight hug.

“You really have a way of making us worry, you know,” she murmured, her voice muffled by the fabric of Harry’s new Weasley jumper. “All Christmas you looked as if Mum slaughtered your crup and served it for dinner.”

Harry made a face, and she pulled away to scan his face worriedly.

“I’m not going to force you to talk to me,” she promised. “I know I won’t get anywhere with that. Just please, remember that I’m here to listen. And if I’m not the right person, then talk to Ron, or owl Hermione. We all care about you, Harry, and we hate to see you suffer.”

“I can’t talk to them,” Harry mumbled uncomfortably. “They wouldn’t understand.”

“How do you know?,” Ginny frowned. “You’re not giving them a chance to. If you aren’t honest, they can’t understand, can they?” Harry just looked at her, unable to explain himself and his inability to voice his worries to his best friends. At this point, he felt like he didn’t even understand it himself. “Or,” Ginny injected, and it sounded like she had to force herself to say those words. “If you really can’t tell them, owl Malfoy. You two seem to have grown close, and I know it must be because you feel like he gives you something we don’t. I can’t really tell what you see in him, but if he makes amends by being a good friend to you, I’ll be the last one to stand in the way of that.”

Harry gulped against the tightness in his throat those words had brought forward. He wished he could talk to Malfoy so badly.

Ginny squeezed his arm again, and finally let go.

“I’ll go back inside,” she told him. “Don’t stay out too long, or you’ll catch a cold.”

Harry nodded, and with a smile, she slipped back into the house, leaving Harry to himself and his own, wildly rotating thoughts.

  


Later that night, when everyone was fast asleep, Harry was still considering Ginny’s words. Ron was snoring loudly from across the room, but Harry found himself unable to find rest once again. He didn’t think he had slept for more than ten hours in total since his arrival at the Burrow, and with how restless he felt tonight, he didn’t see any sleep in his near future, either.

Careful not to wake Ron, he grabbed his wand and got to his feet, silently slipping from the room. He tiptoed down the stairs, mindful of the creaking floorboards, until he finally made it into the deserted kitchen. He lit the candles on the kitchen table and sat down, absentmindedly reaching for a biscuit from the tray Mrs Weasley had left out, munching on it, lost in thought.

Ginny was right with her assumption that he wanted to talk to Malfoy. He wanted to talk to him desperately, but Malfoy hadn’t even reacted to his Christmas card, and really, who was Harry to push him, when he had spent the past months wanting nothing more than to be left alone?

But Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that he couldn’t leave things the way they were now. Harry had barely said a word when Malfoy had opened his heart to him, and though he still didn’t feel like he had any answers to Malfoy’s questions, he needed to make an attempt to communicate himself. He had left Ginny hanging for months without a word, and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.

Finally, he made up his mind and conjured parchment, ink and quill from the living room. He carefully stretched the parchment out over the table and opened the ink with his other hand, dipping the quill into it, thinking. Hesitantly, he set the tip to the parchment.

 _Dear Malfoy,_ he scrawled, before holding in and picking up his wand to erase the words again. _Draco_ , he wrote instead.

_I’m sorry about what happened the night before we left Hogwarts. I feel stupid for not having realized your feelings, but then again, I don’t really have a reputation for being perceptive, do I? You could have probably spelt it out in sparkling letters over the ceiling of the Great Hall and I wouldn’t have gotten it. Hell, you practically did, that night when you kissed me, and my brain still wouldn’t process it._

_Be that as it may, you still caught me off guard, and I know I reacted horribly. I didn’t mean to hurt you, not after everything you have done for me over the past weeks. You were the friend I desperately needed (still need), and I can’t thank you enough for that. You say I don’t owe anyone a thing, but I still think I owe you honesty for that._

_I don’t know if I feel what you feel for me. I don’t know what I want, and I can’t explain what is going on inside of me either. But you always seemed to understand me, anyways, and I can’t lose that. I can’t lose_ you _._

_So please, don’t pull away from me. I don’t think I could take it. Only these few days without talking to you have been hell. If anyone had told me before I returned to Hogwarts that I would become this dependent on Draco Malfoy’s friendship, I’d have sent them right to the Janus Thickey Ward to room with Lockhart, but here I am._

_I know this is not what you want to hear. I’m sorry for not being able to give you what you want, at least not the way things are now. But I feel like, with you by my side, I will be able to sort myself out, and maybe then, I can give you a better answer._

Harry held in after that, trying to find the right words to round up his letter, but finding none. He read over what he had written two more times, but in the end, he just gave up and finished with a lame: _I’ll be waiting for your answer. -Harry_

He rolled up the parchment and sealed it with a swish of his wand. He erased the lights in the kitchen and made his way back up to Ron’s room. Ron was still sleeping when he tiptoed back into the room, and did not wake even when Harry opened Pigwidgeon’s cage. The little owl let out a soft hoot, but willingly held out his leg so Harry could tie the letter to it.

“Please bring this to Draco Malfoy,” he whispered, opening the window. “And peck him for ignoring me.”

Pigwidgeon chirped and took off. Harry watched him fly into the night and silently closed the window again. When he lay back down, he felt a little better, and managed to fall into a light slumber.

  


It took two days for Draco to finally answer, but when Harry returned from a day spent with Teddy and Andromeda, the letter was waiting for him on the kitchen table at the Burrow.

“This came for you earlier, Harry,” Mrs Weasley smiled at him, waving her wand to encourage the dishes to do themselves. “The owl that brought it was a right scare. It almost nipped my fingers off when I tried to take the letter.”

“I think it wanted to deliver the letter to you directly,” Ginny grinned. “It took various firm vows that you would receive it, and some owl crackers, to finally make it relinquish the thing. Must be personal.” With that, she handed Harry said letter, and his eyes hungrily travelled over the seal. The Malfoy crest was embedded into the green wax, and only a few months ago, Harry would have scoffed at the stereotypical picture it made. Instead, though, Harry felt a strange jumble of anticipation and dread stirr his insides, and his fingers clenched around the parchment in his hands.

“Right,” Harry croaked. “Thanks. I’ll just… be a minute.”

He still felt Ginny’s eyes on him as he crossed the room, but he was too wound up to meet her gaze. He passed through the living room in a hurry, merely waving at Charlie and Mr Weasley, who were launched on the couch and in animated discussion about the new Ministry policies regarding the status of Magical Creatures in society.

“Yes, Dad,” Charlie sighed. “I agree that it’s a huge step forward, but honestly, we still have a long way to go if we want to appease folks like Goblins, the Merpeople or Centaurs. Actually, in Romania-”

Finally, he reached the solitude of the terrace, and Charlie’s words were cut off by the shutting of the door. He leant against the wall, making sure he would be unseen from inside, and threw a quick warming charm over himself to keep the cold night air away. Only then, with trembling fingers, did he break the seal and unroll the parchment.

For a moment, he blankly stared at Draco’s neat handwriting, taking comfort in the familiarity of its elegance. Only then did he began to read.

_Harry,_

_I apologize for my prolonged silence. I realize that it wasn’t fair to keep you waiting, but I needed some time to myself, and to come to terms with the things I knew I had to tell you, even though I wished that I didn’t. I have a tendency to egoism, as you should be very well aware, and this isn’t easy for me. But I’m trying my best to suppress this part of myself, and this is a segment of this journey, so I finally sat down and formulated my response._

_Please don’t apologise to me. You are not to blame for anything that happened. I know I tend to joke about your intellect and your perceptive capabilities, but you should know by now not to take my jabs seriously. You didn’t realise my feelings because I decided not to show them to you._

_My affection for you has a longer history than you might have been aware of. I can’t pinpoint when exactly it started, but I acknowledged my feelings to myself shortly after the end of the war. That being said, I guarantee you that I had no ulterior motives when I approached you around the time the new term started. I wasn’t delusional enough to think I could make you fall in love with me. Honestly, I didn’t even expect I could convince you to see me as a friend, not after everything I have done to you and those close to you. No, the only reason I approached you was that, when I finally got to see you in person again, you seemed broken, and I felt like, after all those times you saved my life, I had to make an effort to make yours at least a little easier._

_That was how it started, but step by step, you came to rely on me, and even though I tried to reprimand myself, a part of me began to hope for more. And that wasn’t fair to you, because of all people, I know best how much you have been struggling with yourself, and your feelings for your ex-girlfriend. And still I went and put even more pressure on you, instead of giving you the support I swore myself to provide._

_I regret that very much. My confession was a rash reaction to your words. I wasn’t thinking._

_The problem is, though, that now the Kneazle is out of the sack, no matter how much we try to ignore it, my being around you will be an unspoken pressure on your shoulders. The last thing I want to be to you is another Ginny Weasley. And that’s why I think it’s better if we keep some distance between us, at least until you are more emotionally stable, or until I have moved past these inappropriate feelings for you._

_I know this is not what you want. I know that you think you need me, but all you crave is the acceptance I gave you exactly because I knew you wanted it. But I’m not the only one who can give that to you. I said it before, and I am going to say it again: Your friends care about you, Harry. If you give them a chance to understand you, they will give you all the time, space and support you will need. Just explain yourself to them and stop running._

_I really am sorry I can’t be there to support you any longer, but I think this is better for both of us._

_Yours,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Harry stared at the name until his sight began to blur. He blinked, but it didn’t clear, and only when a wet drop hit the “D” of “Draco” did he realize that he was crying.

He took a shaky breath, clumsily wiping at his cheeks, but his hands were shaking so hard that he almost knocked his glasses off his nose.

He missed the sound of the backdoor opening, and only noticed the presence of another person when a gentle hand closed around his elbow. He gasped and looked up to find Ginny watching him, concern written all over her face, and a cup of hot chocolate in her hand.

“What happened, Harry?,” she breathed, her eyes flicking to the letter in his hand before returning to his face.

Harry fought to breathe, but his whole body was quivering, and tears still rolled past his eyelashes, leaving wet trails all over his face. Ginny was still watching him, a grim look on her face, and then, she put down the cup onto the ground and pulled him into her arms.

It was all the encouragement Harry needed to crumble in her arms and let himself cry. The feeling was foreign; Harry did not usually allow himself to break open like this, but something about the reality of losing Draco Malfoy was too much for him. So he didn’t resist Ginny’s anchoring embrace, or the gentle fingers stroking through his hair as every ounce of pain and hurt seemed to rush out of him, even those emotions that his brain could not quite make sense of.

When his chest finally unclenched enough for him to breathe normally again, he pulled away, removing his glasses and wiping his face on his sleeve. Ginny picked up the cup of hot chocolate again, quickly reheated it with a spell and pressed it into Harry’s hand. Harry was thankful. He took a sip, relieved when the chocolaty taste smoothed over the rawness of his throat.

Ginny just stood next to him, not speaking, until finally, Harry breathed: “I lost him, Gin.”

She didn’t ask who he was talking about, and after humming in thought, she replied: “If he’s important enough for you to lose it like this, why do you allow him to leave?”

Harry frowned, considering that. Ginny just elbowed him and smiled.

“Don’t stay out for too long,” she advised. “You’ll catch a cold, and then Mum will be insufferable.”

Harry huffed, and Ginny chuckled as she pushed herself off the wall and slid back inside. leaving Harry feeling not exactly better, or in possession of even a single answer to this mess he was in, but at least the weight pushing on his chest didn’t threaten to suffocate him anymore. And maybe that was a start. 


	5. January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with the new chapter :D Thank you so much for all your lovely comments on the last one!! I hope you'll like this one just as much, even though it stays angsty, for now. 
> 
> This chapter contains the scene that started the whole story in my head, and I'm really fond of it. You might recognise it from the beginning :) 
> 
> Please enjoy, and leave me some love! :3

Chapter Five: January

  


Harry stared unseeingly across the room of their dormitory, right at Draco’s empty four-poster bed. Every day since Harry had received Draco’s letter, he had obsessed over what he was going to say to him, how he was going to make things right again, and upon his return back to Hogwarts, he had stormed up to the Eighth Year common room. When he had not found the familiar head of immaculate white-blond hair, he had pushed on to their dormitory, only to find Draco’s trunk at the foot of his bed, without the actual person anywhere in sight. Finally, he had opened his own trunk and digged for the Marauder’s Map. It took him a while to find Draco, but when he did, the Slytherin was in the company of Parkinson and Zabini and in the library. Harry’s earlier high spirits sank so drastically that he’d probably have to pick them up from the ground of the Dark Lake again later. Parkinson and Zabini hated him, and if Draco had told them what had happened, they were sure to be glued to his side from now on, ready to guard Draco from Harry’s attentions at all times.

“So, that’s how it’s going to be from now on?,” Harry asked into the empty room. Was Draco going to avoid him with all his might, not even giving him a chance to properly apologize?

No, Harry couldn’t let that happen. Ginny had been right - Draco was too important, and Harry was not going to let go of him. He was going to find a way to talk to him, and if he had to use up all the stubbornness inside of him to do it.

  


Harry heaved a deep sigh as he crossed the empty corridor towards the bathroom. The echo of his steps sounded deafeningly loud in his ears, even more so than Ron and Hermione’s pointedly cheery chatter before he had excused himself. It had been three days since he had returned to Hogwarts, and Draco was still evading him like he was carrying Dragon Pox. If Harry weren’t feeling so hopeless, he’d have been impressed by the Slytherin’s resourcefulness. Draco never returned to their dormitory before midnight, making sure Nott and Malone were going to be asleep and successfully keeping Harry from addressing him. The first night, Harry had tried, but he had woken Nott who had thrown such a fierce stinging hex at him that he hadn’t dared to raise his ire again. No matter how late Draco went to bed, though, the bunk was always empty when Harry woke. For all the time in between, except for meals or classes, Draco had taken permanent residence at the library with Parkinson and Zabini.

Harry was ready to tear his hair out in frustration. It shouldn’t be that hard to get hold of your room mate for a private word. The only thing that was keeping him from just walking over to the Slytherin table and shaking his ex-nemesis-turned-emotional-anchor to forcefully demanda word were the worried looks Hermione and Ron threw him every time they caught him staring at the blond. The questions were practically jumping off Hermione’s face and hitting him on the head: What happened? Why aren’t you talking anymore? And why do you look like Crookshanks nicked your heart and used it as a chewing toy? But she refrained from asking them, and the last thing Harry needed now was to pour his heart out to them. His face still burned every time he remembered his break down in front of Ginny.

No, the only person who he really wanted to talk to would rather hide in the Forbidden Forest than face him, and Harry didn’t know what to do.

The sound of a door opening cut through his thoughts, and he looked up to see none other than the object of his renewed obsession exiting the bathroom. His heartbeat stuttered as he took in ruffled white blond strands, his mind helpfully supplying the scent of parchment, Earl Grey and honey. He had never been aware of how the other boy smelled, not until the his constant presence had been stolen from him, and now, sometimes, when he passed Draco’s empty bed, he stood and took in the prominent scent he associated with him. Like the utter creep he was.

His hands balled into fists, and then, finally, Draco looked up, and grey orbs focused on his for the first time since before Christmas.

They both stopped in their tracks. For a moment, it seemed like even the rest of the world was holding in, just to accommodate them.

“Hi,” Draco said finally, his voice raspy, as if he hadn’t used it in a long time.

“Hi,” Harry returned the greeting, his throat uncomfortably dry.

Draco hesitated for a moment, but then he broke their eye contact and started walking. Harry was still frozen, helplessly watching as Draco approached, and passed him. The other boy’s footsteps seemed even louder than his own, mockingly so. _Tap. Tap. Tap._

“I talked to Ginny,” Harry blurted out in desperation. The footsteps stopped, and Harry was unreasonably relieved. “About… us,” he added awkwardly. “It’s over.”

“That’s great,” Draco replied, his voice very quiet, but sincere. “Good for you.”

“She’s been very kind about it,” Harry murmured, afraid to turn around and face Draco, afraid to watch him leave if he chose to do so. “I think it’s a relief to both of us, actually.”

“She’s a smart girl,” Draco agreed, not unkindly. “I’m sure she’s known for a while.”

Harry closed his eyes, biting his lip.

“I miss you,” he whispered, almost inaudibly.

For a moment, Harry thought Draco hadn’t heard him, but then the answer came, just as softly as Harry’s words had.

“I miss you, too.”

_That_ made Harry’s eyes fly open, and he turned without hesitation. Draco was still facing the other end of the corridor, and his shoulders were tensed, trembling slightly.

“Then why-,” Harry began, but Draco was already shaking his head.

“Nothing has changed, Harry,” Draco insisted, voice more steady now, and the sound of his first name from Draco’s lips made his heart flutter strangely. “And we both know it won’t. It’s better this way.”

“It’s not!,” Harry called, so loudly that he winced at his own voice.

“I’m not that strong, Harry!,” Draco said clearly, almost calmly, and he turned around to face him. His emotional uproar was easily visible in his eyes, and it tied knots into Harry’s tongue. “I can’t pretend anymore, and you don’t need that kind of weight on your shoulders,” Draco huffed. “You’ve got enough going on as it is. So don’t worry about me.”

“But you _get_ me,” Harry murmured, feeling like a five-year-old trying to reason with an adult. Immature. Selfish. “When you’re around, everything makes a little more sense. I can’t lose that.”

Draco closed his eyes, as if hearing those words was physically painful to him. When he opened them again, the grey was bright and burning into him.

“If you’d just give your friends the chance-,” Draco began, but Harry interrupted him, his tone vehement.

“I don’t want to talk to _them_!,” Harry argued. “They are not _you_!”

“We both know this isn’t really about me, Potter!,” Draco hissed, and finally, Harry heard the edge in his voice. This resigned calmness in his voice had made him seem more untouchable, and Harry hated it. “You want me around because I made it easy for you. Because I didn’t push you and was there when you needed someone. It could have been anyone!”

“You know bloody well that’s not true!,” Harry growled. “Don’t you dare suggest I don’t care!”

Draco sighed, and now he looked tired, like the lack of sleep had finally caught up with him. Harry wished he could just take him by the hand, lay them down on his bed and rest between quiet, comfortable chatter. The way they used to. The wave of sharp longing that followed this thoughts felt like a Bludger into his stomach.

“I know you care,” Draco conceded. “It’s just not the way I wished you did, and that makes things difficult. If we went back from here, we’d be pretending, and I’m tired of lying to you, or to myself.”

“I don’t want you to lie,” Harry whispered.

“Then don’t ask me to,” Draco said, and his voice was final.

He turned, and left, and Harry couldn’t help but feel that he was taking a part of Harry with him. The sound of his footsteps resounded loudly from the walls. _Tap. Tap. Tap._

  


“You look like something Mrs Norris dragged in,” Ginny quipped as she took the seat next to Harry on the Gryffindor table, reaching for the potatoes.

Harry grimaced, not looking up at her, instead moodily poking at his own food until it looked crushed and unappetizing.

“Where are Hermione and my dear brother?,” she continued when he didn’t answer. “It seems almost negligent to leave you to your own devices like this.”

“Ron dragged her out to Hogsmeade from dinner,” Harry murmured. “Insisted she needed some time away from her books. They asked me to come along, but I refused. I don’t want to butt in on their date.”

“Understandably,” Ginny nodded, scooping up some chicken to push it into her mouth, watching him thoughtfully as she chewed. “I came over here to tell you something, but with your mood like that, I feel like a bad friend if I would. Or like a gloating ex-girlfriend, which is even worse.”

Harry’s lips twitched at that.

“Just spit it out,” he shrugged. “No offense, but my mood can’t get much worse.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows in response, making clear that she doubted that part, but then, a soft smile slipped over her lips and her eyes shone in a way that made Harry perk up.

“A boy from my year asked me out,” she admitted. “And I said yes.”

Harry blinked, stunned, before finally, the first honest smile since Christmas spread over his face. It felt almost weird, like his facial muscles had forgotten how to produce it.

“That’s great, Gin!,” he erupted.

“I’m glad you think so,” she beamed. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you, but we did promise to stay friends, so I really wanted you to hear it from me.”

“You don’t have to worry about upsetting me,” Harry frowned. “I’m happy for you. Really.”

“Good,” Ginny returned, obviously relieved, and she turned her attention back to her food.

“Who’s the lucky guy?,” Harry asked, finally giving up all pretence of eating and focusing his attention completely on Ginny.

“Toby O’Shea,” she grinned. “I don’t think you know him. He’s a Hufflepuff from my year, and we share almost all of our classes, and well… This term, I hung out more and more with my classmates, getting together for study groups and all kind of things…”

Harry nodded, realising that he had never put any conscious thought into who Ginny hung out with when she wasn’t with them. Of course, he knew she was close to Luna, but he barely knew any other friends of hers.

“And well, Toby and I got along really well,” Ginny continued. “He is very attentive, but not overly so, and I really like it. Being with him is easy, you know?”

“Yes,” Harry said automatically, trying not to think of Draco.

“Apparently, he’s had feelings for me for a while,” Ginny chuckled. “But he didn’t dare approach me because he knew I hadn’t worked things out with you yet. He confessed to me last night, and I want to see where things go,” Ginny’s eyes were soft as she assured him. “He’s a really good guy, you know?”

“That’s good,” Harry smiled. “You deserve no less.”

Ginny elbowed him, but she was laughing.

“I haven’t felt this light in a while,” she pointed out happily. “Isn’t it weird how sometimes, what you need is right in front of you, and you never realised?”

Harry gulped, his gaze wandering over to the Slytherin table, where Draco was listening to something Parkinson was telling him.

“You still made no progress with Malfoy?,” Ginny asked, following his gaze.

“No,” Harry sighed, slumping and resting his elbows onto the table. “I don’t know what to do.” When Ginny just hummed, swallowing some of her food, Harry murmured: “How do you _know_?! When this bloke asked you to be with him, how did you know it was the right thing to do?”

“I didn’t,” Ginny frowned. “I still don’t. But that’s what life is about, right? Taking chances, trying to find happiness.” When Harry didn’t return anything, she prodded: “You’re overthinking this, Harry. What do you want?”

“I don’t know what I want,” Harry huffed. “That’s the whole problem.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she scoffed. “You wouldn’t be so upset if you didn’t know what you want.”

Harry gulped, throwing one more look over at the Slytherin table.

“I want to be with him,” Harry admitted softly. “But Ginny, he wants to be _with_ me, and I’m not sure I can-”

“Are you sure that you can’t?,” she countered.

“No,” Harry sighed. “Not at all, in fact.”

“Then why won’t you let yourself find out if maybe, you do want the same thing he wants?,” Ginny suggested. “Just let it happen, Harry. What are you so afraid of?”

“Nothing,” Harry muttered helplessly. “Everything.”

Gently, Ginny placed her hand on his, squeezing it.

“I know things have been hard on you,” she murmured. “And I know you did not expect Draco Malfoy to play such a role in your future. But, despite my reservations at the beginning, I think he is good for you, and the way he looks at you… He is sincere. Don’t let this slip out of your reach, Harry. You might regret it.”

Harry just returned the pressure of her fingers, watching numbly as Draco left the Great Hall, flanked by Parkinson and Zabini on both sides and not looking into his direction.

  


“Ready?,” Seamus called, his hands curling a little tighter around the Quaffle in his hand. “Go!” He threw it, and Michael and Megan in their white and ruby coloured robes as well as Terry and Dean in their black and sapphire ones raced towards it, ending up in a blur of ropes and movement until finally, Megan emerged with the Quaffle in hand.

Harry tried to keep his mind on the game, but far too soon, his eyes searched for Draco on the other side of the field. He appeared focused on his look-out for the Snitch, but the glow of euphoria that Harry usually observed whenever Draco was up in the air seemed to be missing. Instead, he looked pale and tired, and Harry knew, deep in his bones, that it was his fault.

January had passed in a flurry of finding the courage to reach out to Draco, and having it slip through his fingers the moment he caught sight of the Slytherin. Harry felt ridiculous and inappropriate - he had defended the darkest wizard of the century, and now he couldn’t even approach a classmate?! Ginny was right, of course. He was overthinking, which, once the realisation had settled in Harry’s mind, he found very strange, because if anything, people had always accused him of acting _without_ thinking. What had happened to the Harry Potter who had stormed Hogwarts without as much of a plan, knowing that the school was in the hands of his enemies?

Watching numbly as Draco Malfoy circled the Hufflepuff stand in the distance, he wondered if maybe, Harry Potter had died in the Forbidden Forest last year, and the person he was now was just an imposter. A wanna-be.

As if to prove his theory, he noticed too late that Draco had sighted the Snitch, diving towards the center of the field, and Harry hurried to imitate him. Only then, a series of events enfolded that made Harry forget all about the Snitch.

Dean had just passed the Quaffle to Terry, but it had been intercepted halfway by Michael. Terry, in his haste to rectify his mistake, had sped instantly over to him, crossing the way between Draco and the Snitch. Draco, too focused on the little golden Ball hovering near the pitch circle, had missed this development, and with a sickening sound, the two of them collided mid-air.

Terry, in a show of admirable balance, had managed to hold onto his broom, but Draco, having hit his head on Terry’s elbow, had lost his grip and was falling.

And this time, Harry didn’t think. His instincts had taken over completely, diving towards where Draco was falling through the air like a sack of potatoes, and caught him in his arms about five feet from the ground. He swayed a little under the sudden weight, but he managed to keep his broom straight and his hold on Draco’s body firm.

“Draco!,” he gasped, squeezing his arm around his torso in an awkward angle, but there was no reaction from the other boy.

Carefully, Harry landed, lowering Draco gently onto the grass the moment he had firm ground under his feet, only to realize that his blond hair was matted with dark blood. His face was as slack as his limbs and his eyes were closed.

“Shit!,” he heard Terry curse as he landed beside him. “Is he okay?!”

“He’s unconscious,” Harry muttered, and he didn’t recognise his own voice. It was somehow brittle.

Terry was apologising profoundly, but Sally interrupted him as she called: “We have to get him to the hospital wing!”

“I’m taking him!,” Harry said immediately, and without waiting for an answer, he lifted Draco into his arms and mounted his broom again. He made sure that his grip on Draco was secure before he pushed off mere inches from the ground and took off back towards the castle. He made sure that he didn’t pick up too much speed, to not risk crashing them, but enough to get them towards the school nurse as quickly as possible.

The way still felt endless, and not because Draco was heavy in his arms. Harry barely felt his weight through the tightness of his own grip. No, instead, he was overly aware of Draco’s blood staining the white fabric of his robes from where his forehead leaned against Harry’s shoulder, its colour almost the same shade of the red the robes were already laced with, and the fact that Draco still didn’t stir in his grip.

When he finally burst through the doors of the hospital wing, he came to a stuttering halt, making Madam Pomfrey drop an empty phial in the shock over his sudden arrival.

“Mr Potter!,” she shrieked. “No flying inside the castle, _especially_ not in the infirmary!”

“Sorry, Madam!,” Harry apologised hastily, dropping his broom onto the floor carelessly. “This is important, though! Draco got hurt during our Quidditch match!”

Only then did Madam Pomfrey seem to take note of the limb body in his arms, and all indignation left her face to be replaced by a firm professionality.

“Onto the bed with him,” she ordered, pulling back the covers of the nearest bunk so Harry could gently lower Draco onto the mattress. “What happened?”

“He collided with another person and hit his head,” Harry explained, his voice still unsteady. “He’s been unconscious since.”

“Probably a concussion,” the nurse muttered, waving her wand wordlessly and nodding to herself. “Please step back, Mr Potter.”

Harry had barely taken a step away from the bed as the door burst open again, admitting Parkinson and Zabini.

“How is he?!,” Parkinson called anxiously, pushing past Harry roughly. “Will he be okay?!”

“He will be if you let me do my job!,” Madam Pomfrey snapped in agitation. “Out with you! All of you! This boy is concussed, and he does not need you kids yelling about! I’ll call you in when I’m done!”

Pansy was glaring, as if prepared to fight her, but Zabini had already grabbed her wrist and was firmly pulling her back towards the doors. His face was grim as he hissed “Potter!,”, and Harry, with one last anxious look towards Draco’s still face, followed them outside.

As soon as Harry had closed the door behind himself, though, Zabini rounded up on him, grabbing the front of his robes roughly and grinding out in a deadly tone: “I’m only going to say this once, Potter, and if you don’t listen, I’ll hex you into the next week, and I won’t care if I get expelled for permanently maiming the Boy Who Outlasted Everyone Else By Refusing To Die. _Stay. Away. From. Draco._ ”

Harry opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Parkinson had appeared next to Zabini, looking just as murderous.

“Don’t you think you’ve hurt Draco enough?!,” she snarled. “It’s thanks to you that he’s miserable, and I won’t watch him fall back into your grasp just because you once again deemed to play his hero!”

“I didn’t-” Harry rasped, unable to find words. “I-”

“Your game has been amusing as long as it lasted,” Zabini growled. “But as difficult as this may be for you to believe, Draco is a real person with real emotions, and he has been through enough. He doesn’t need you to dangle things in front of his face when we all know he can never have them!”

“Exactly,” Pansy agreed, sneering at him. “I didn’t hesitate to hand you over to your death last year in order to protect my friends from harm, and I know you’d think I’d be sorry for that now, but I am not. I would throw you to the wolves all over again if I can protect Draco with it. Remember who my father is, and where he is now. and why. Don’t think my threats are empty. Hurt Draco, and you’ll suffer!”

With that, Zabini roughly shoved him down the corridor, away from the door behind which Draco was being attended to.

“Stay far away from us!,” he ordered. “If I only see you as much as looking into his direction once more, you’ll pay, Potter!”

Harry wanted to fight them, wanted to yell at them that he never intended on hurting Draco, that this wasn’t a game to him, but the words just wouldn’t come. His heart was hammering in his ears, and he was shaking from head to toe. Zabini and Parkinson were still staring him down as if he was a blast-ended skrewt that had found its way into their beds. And then, hasty footsteps were approaching them through the corridor, and Ron and Hermione turned around the corner.

“Harry!,” Hermione called, her tone concerned. “Is Malfoy alright?”

Harry gulped, and with a last defeated look towards Zabini and Parkinson, he turned around and stumbled into the opposite direction, away from the two Slytherins who hated him for causing Draco pain. And faced with their fury, Harry couldn’t even blame them. He hated himself just as much.

“Harry!,” Hermione exclaimed, and his two friends finally caught up with him. “What’s wrong?”

Harry couldn’t answer, and with his last energy, he threw himself onto an empty stone bench and buried his face in his shaking hands.

He could hear his friends call his name in fearful voices, but he couldn’t bear to look at them.

He just wanted to disappear.

  


Harry didn’t know when exactly he had started talking, but before he knew it, everything had poured out of him: Ginny, and how, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t bring himself to love her the way he had before the war; the guilt that had accompanied this admission; Draco’s confession, and his own confusion over it; Draco pulling away from him, and his friends accusing Harry of playing with him… Everything fell from Harry’s lips in such garbled disorder that he was surprised Ron and Hermione could even keep up with him.

But keep up, they did: Hermione was stroking calming circles into his back, watching him with tearful eyes, and Ron stared off into space, listening with a grave expression. None of them interrupted him, and Harry was thankful, because he didn’t think he could have dealt with their questions, could have continued once cut off.

When he finally ran out of air, he slumped in on himself, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Hermione’s soothing touch never ceased, and a heavy silence fell upon them.

Hermione was the one to break it after what felt like an eternity.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with all of this alone. I wished you had talked to us sooner.”

“I couldn’t,” Harry whispered.

“Why?,” Hermione asked. “Because you thought we wouldn’t understand? Wouldn’t support your break up with Ginny, or your feelings for Malfoy?”

“Yes,” Harry huffed, finally looking at her. “Yes, Hermione, and don’t look at me like that! Remember the last time we talked about Ginny and Draco, and how that ended?!”

Hermione bit her lip, looking guilt-ridden. It was Ron who spoke next, much to Harry’s surprise.

“I know I’ve not always been the most reliable of friends,” Ron murmured, still not looking at him. “I left you behind in that forest when you had no one but me and ‘Mione. I’ve doubted you when I just should have just listened. I am jealous, proud, prejudiced and hold grudges. I can’t even blame you for not wanting to talk to me.” Harry was about to protest, but he was cut off when Ron continued. “But Harry, no matter what happens and what choices you make, and regardless of what I might think of them at first, you have to know that in the end, I’ll always support you.” He finally looked up to meet his gaze, the sadness in his eyes shocking Harry to the bones. “We both will, because you’re our best friend. You’ve always been there for us, and we will always have your back, too. Please never doubt that.”

Harry’s throat felt tight and raw after Ron’s speech, but he still forced the words out, because they needed to be said.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make your sister happy,” he croaked.

“She’s tough,” Ron shrugged. “She will find her happiness. I’ve been more worried about you lately, to be quite honest.”

“I don’t want to be an Auror,” Harry blurted out, and Ron frowned in confusion. “I know we said we’d join the Department of Magical Law Enforcement together, but I don’t think I can. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life _fighting_.”

Ron was silent for a moment, but in the end, he nodded, making Harry almost sag in relief.

“Okay,” Ron nodded. “I get it. Of course, I’d have loved to have you there, but it it’s not what you want, I’m not going to make you. You’ve fought enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured.

“Don’t apologize,” Ron sighed. “Will you stop talking like you owe me stuff?! It’s your sodding life! It’s okay to make your own decision, mate!”

“Exactly, Harry,” Hermione whispered, inconspicuously wiping at her left eye as if she could hide that she had been crying. “Of course, we want you to be loved and cared for and happy, and in my eagerness to see it happen, I might have overstepped my boundaries. I pushed you towards Ginny because I thought you’d feel better if you two sorted out your differences, but it wasn’t until much later that I realized that wasn’t what you needed. And I’m sorry for making things awkward, for making you feel like you couldn’t confide in us. But Ron is right. We will support you no matter what. And if it’s Malfoy you need, well… I guess it’s not the worst choice you could make.”

“Liar,” Harry scoffed, his voice still scratchy. “You can’t possibly mean that.”

“I do,” Hermione insisted. “I have eyes, Harry, and I’ve seen you two together. He might have been horrible to us in the past, but he cares about you. And you… it’s like you start blooming when he’s around.”

“Blooming?,” Harry repeated, slightly appalled.

“I can’t explain,” Hermione sighed. “I wished you could see yourself. You’ve become so introverted, and you’re so tense around people. It’s like you’ve withdrawn yourself completely. But when you’re with him… You look like yourself again. You talk, you smile, and you let down your guard. And at first I hated it because after everything, why would you feel like you could trust Malfoy more than us?! But I understand now that it’s not about that.”

“What do you understand?,” Harry hissed. “Please share your insight with me, because I really don’t understand anything!”

Hermione chewed on her lip, hesitantly meeting his eyes.

“I think that, after the war, you’ve fallen into a hole,” she explained quietly. “I don’t know what exactly caused it, if it was all those deaths, the loss of a sense of purpose, or just the fact that you’ve spent all your life living up to others’ expectations of you and you just couldn’t stop,... or maybe it was a little bit of everything. And because we were part of the problem, part of the people you were terrified to disappoint, you couldn’t turn to us. And Malfoy… You’ve always had a kind of special relationship, didn’t you?”

“We hated each other,” Harry reminded her.

“It was more than that,” Hermione shook her head, frowning. “You were drawn to each other, to a degree neither Ron nor me could understand. He might have evoked negative feelings back then, but still, he made you _feel_ , you know? And that’s exactly what he did after we returned to Hogwarts, too, only this time, the emotions he evoked were of the positive variety. He brought you back to life, in a way.”

Harry gulped, closing his eyes, being hit by how right Hermione was.

“I don’t trust him,” Ron grunted. “And I’ll probably never like him. But if you want to be with him, I won’t stand in your way. Whatever makes you happy, mate. But be sure that I’ll break his haughty face if he hurts you.”

“I’m the one who’s hurt him,” Harry pointed out, opening his eyes again. “It doesn’t matter anymore if you approve or not. He won’t even look at me.”

“Well, you can’t just let Parkinson or Zabini keep you away,” Ron rolled his eyes. “They’re not Malfoy’s keepers. And if they dare interfere, let Hermione and me have a word with them!”

“But they’re right,” Harry sighed. “I didn’t have any bad intentions, but I only thought of myself and my own problems, and I didn’t even have the decency to realize what Draco was going through. Why would they let me close to him again?”

“Because you’re in love with him, you bloody idiot,” Ron groaned. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, by the way.”

“Ron,” Hermione hissed, glaring daggers at him. “Stop.”

“Do you really think that?,” Harry whispered, his heartbeat picking up at the thought. “That I’m feeling the same?”

Ron just raised his eyebrows pointedly, and Hermione sighed.

“We only know what we see, Harry,” she said softly. “We see that you have a special bond, but what exactly it is, that’s something only you can say.”

“I don’t know what it is,” Harry muttered. “Sometimes, I look at him and I just miss him so damn much that I think… I think I might return his feelings. And then there are moments when I just feel empty. Like I can’t feel anything anymore, least of all love someone the way Draco claims to love me.”

“Harry,” Hermione took his hand and squeezed it. “I think you’re depressed, and that’s why you can’t decide what you feel. You might need to get better before you can understand yourself again. Maybe, to figure out your emotions, you just have to… stop obsessing over them.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Harry admitted.

“I know it’s hard for you,” she said, squeezing his hand once more. “But maybe you should give Malfoy some space, and grant yourself some distance, too. Just until you see things a little clearer.”

“And if you end up realizing that you do love him,” Ron injected. “Like I’m sure you will… Well, you can still try to fix things and get him back then.”

“He might have changed his mind then,” Harry reminded him.

Ron snorted. “Come off it, this is Malfoy we are talking about! He must _really_ be into you for him to own up to the fact that he wants to shag the boy who’s humiliated him and his family more than once! I’m pretty sure he’s not going to change his mind!”

“Ron,” Hermione said firmly, her eyes traveling from the unhappy flush on Harry’s face to her boyfriend, staring him down. “Not helping here.”

“Fine,” Ron sighed. “Just saying. I’m pretty sure Malfoy will still be there when you decide you want to be with him.”

“Ronald may be insensitive and insufferable,” Hermione rolled her eyes and finally looked back at Harry. “But I think he might be right with that. You shouldn’t make any rash decisions just to keep him around. He wouldn’t want that, either.”

Harry nodded, leaning back against the wall behind him.

“Fine,” he relented. “I hate it, though. I hate not having him around.”

“I know,” Hermione smiled a sad smile. “And I’m sure he does, too.” 


	6. February

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! No, I haven't forgotten to turn my calendar, but in this story, we have reached this convenient holiday for every author, and of course, I made good use of it to give Harry and Draco a little push ;) I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments you keep dropping me! They make my heart sing like Draco's does for Harry. Please keep them up! I am looking forward to your thoughts on this chapter :D

Chapter Six: February

  


Draco was released from the hospital wing only a day after. Not going over to ask how he was, and to tell him how much he’d worried, was the hardest thing Harry had done since walking into the Forbidden Forest knowing he had to die. But after his conversation with Ron and Hermione, he’d set his mind on giving Draco the space he wanted. That did not mean, though, that he had successfully suppressed the urge to approach him. For one, he desperately wanted to tell Draco that he’d finally taken his advice and confided in his friends; that he had been right all along about their reaction not being anything as dramatic as Harry had painted it out in his head. He also wanted to point out that, despite all of that, he still missed Draco nonetheless.

But Harry did not trust himself to communicate any of that without it turning into another plead for Draco to be his friend again, so he kept quiet and, in want of a better word to describe this mess of a situation, waited. He waited and waited, and as the weeks passed, he became increasingly unsure what it was that he was waiting for. A sudden enlightenment as to what exactly it was he felt for Draco? For Draco to decide that he could not stand any more of their distance and approach him?

“Just let things happen, Harry,” Hermione told him when he voiced exactly that to her about a week after Draco’s recovery. “Stop trying to bend things the way you think they should be and let them unfold naturally.”

“Nothing is happening, though,” Harry snapped. “At this rate, it just feels like I’m giving up. And I _hate_ it!”

“See it as a study period before an exam,” Hermione shrugged. “You review everything you know, collect the remaining information before you can tackle the actual thing. Nothing about it means you’re giving up, or that you don’t intend to take the examination. It just means you aren’t prepared to do so yet, and you need more time.”

And while Harry saw her point, it didn’t feel like he was doing any studying, so to speak. All he did was sit around and long for Draco from afar, but he knew that, if he voiced those feelings, Ron would hit him over the head, growling “AND YOU STILL CAN’T TELL THAT YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH HIM?!,” and honestly, Harry wasn’t very keen on this line of conversation again. He felt stupid enough as it was.

Hermione seemed to be right, though, as she usually was. Even if it took until Valentine’s Day to finally set something into motion.

Harry had always hated Valentine’s Day. Between Lockhart’s singing cupids in second year and his disastrous visit to Madam Puddifoot's back in fifth year, he had enough disdain for the ridiculous holiday to last a lifetime - but all of that had been _before_ he had successfully sent the Darkest Wizard of all times into the final dimensions of afterlife.

_Now_ , Valentine’s Day turned out to be pure _hell_.

It started with being woken by a box of chocolates hitting him in the head, announcing a string of Valentine’s Day wishes that would reach him in a steady trickle throughout the whole day. Dozens of owls dove for him throughout breakfast, predatory in their mission, and what appalled Harry most was that all these people sending him pink letters, singing cards or possibly drugged sweets must be part of either his extended circle of acquaintances, or situated in Hogwarts. Because when Harry had decided to return to school, Kingsley had seen to it that his fan mail would be intercepted by the Ministry, allowing only official institutions or people with a direct link to Harry to contact him.

“Just imagine if _all_ of your mail had come through,” Ron quipped, grinning.

“Shut it!,” Harry groaned. “It still shouldn’t be this much! How could anyone who knows me think I would actually _want_ this?!”

“You have to admit, Harry,” Hermione injected. “The number of people who actually _know_ you is pretty small, compared to the number of students Hogwarts hosts. How many friends do you actually have, excluding Ron and me? Three? Maybe five, if we’re generous.”

“Ginny, Luna, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Malfoy,” Ron counted. “Though I’m not sure we can count Malfoy, in this case. Are you sure his card is not on this table right now?”

Ron yelped when Harry threw the nearest, obnoxiously pink chocolate box right into his face, feeling he deserved much more than that.

The torture didn’t stop with the amount of mail, though. All throughout the day, a number of students appeared to find it appropriate to chase him around the castle, eager to profess their affections personally. Not only were they highly inconvenient, but also extremely mortifying, which is why Harry spent a large part of the afternoon running from his admirers.

It was on such an occasion that he literally ran into Draco. He collided painfully with him when he rounded a corner, making the Slytherin almost lose his balance and drop his Alchemy book.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered in embarrassment, picking up his book in a haste. “Are you okay?”

“Sure,” Draco blinked, taking the offered book absentmindedly, regarding him. “Are _you?_ You look-”

That was how far he came before fast steps and giggles announced the approach of the three fourth year girls he had been trying to escape. Harry cursed under his breath, and Draco caught up immediately.

Much to Harry’s surprise, Draco’s fingers closed around his elbow, and he yanked Harry down the corridor behind them, ducking behind a tapestry that revealed a small alcove Harry had never known of. The space behind the fabric was narrow, forcing Draco and him into close proximity. Harry held his breath, not only in fear of giving their position away, but also because his senses were assaulted by Draco’s scent washing over him in an overwhelming wave. He stared at Draco like a deer caught in the headlight, and Draco stared back, his expression almost identical to Harry’s.

They waited until the footsteps and noises passed before they finally started to breathe again.

“Running from your admirers, Potter?,” Draco murmured, the corners of his lips quirking into a small smile that made Harry’s heartbeat pick up.

“Have been doing that all day,” Harry muttered, making a face. “Sorry. And thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” Draco shrugged, amusement apparent in his eyes. “It was nice, playing _your_ hero for once.”

Harry snorted, unable to help himself. The familiarity of their banter was like balm on his soul.

“It’s ridiculous,” he told Draco, with a note of exasperation. “They are like a plague.”

“Now, now,” Draco chuckled. “Others would be flattered.”

“Maybe I would be, if at least one of these people actually cared about me as a person,” Harry muttered darkly. “As opposed to their ‘Savior’.”

Something flickered over Draco’s face, and Harry wished he could take the words back immediately.

“Well,” Draco said, holding up his book. “I have to get going. Good luck in your game of hide and seek.” Before he could leave, though, Harry had reached out for his wrist, holding him back. “Hm?,” Draco hummed in question, meeting his eyes hesitantly.

“I just want you to know,” Harry croaked, his throat suddenly dry and raw. “That I still miss you. Like hell, actually. And that I’m thinking about it. My feelings for you, I mean. I really am.”

Draco just stared back at him, looking lost, so Harry continued, as long as he had the chance: “I told Ron and Hermione everything, and they have been brilliant. It’s not about that, I swear. I don’t feel alone like I used to, but still… It’s not the same, without you.” Draco opened his mouth to answer, but Harry cut him off immediately. “Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to go back to the way things used to be,” he ensured him. “I know now that’s not possible, and it was stupid of me to ask you to. I just want you to know that I’m working on figuring this out.”

Draco was silent for a long moment before he nodded.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Thank you. Let me know if you’ve… come to a conclusion.”

“I will,” Harry promised. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Draco made a face.

“It’s hard to find an in-between,” he admitted. “It’s either being close to you or staying away altogether.”

“I get that,” Harry nodded. “I do, just… Don’t forget that I’m your friend, too, okay? If you feel like you want to talk to me, even just for a couple of minutes, like now,... Just do it, alright?”

Draco took a deep breath and nodded.

“Fine,” he agreed. “I will.”

Harry smiled tentatively, and reluctantly let go of Draco’s wrist. With a little wave, the blond ducked out from behind the tapestry, leaving Harry feeling hopeful, as if finally, the first step had been made.

  


When Harry returned to his dormitory that night, he found a single-decidedly non-pink letter on his pillow. When he unfolded it, a single drop of chocolate wrapped in golden wrapper slipped from it. Harry’s lips twitched in a smile. He knew that brand - it was Draco’s favourite, outrageously expensive and imported. Hastily, he scanned the words, printed in the familiar, elegant script against the parchment.

_Now you have at least one letter from someone who really cares about you._

_Happy stupid, unnecessary and cheesy Muggle holiday to you._

It was not signed, but there was really no need. It was not like there was any doubt in Harry’s mind where the letter originated from. He grinned at the paper in his hand and shook his head in exasperation.

“Prickly, haughty ponce,” he muttered, a little too fondly, picking up the drop of chocolate, unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth. The flavour was rich and warm and complimented the pleasant feeling in his chest that the gesture had caused. He wondered if this was what it would feel like to be Draco’s boyfriend (his stomach did a weird somersault at the word): camouflaged, unexpected expressions of affections like these, under the usual layer of banter and snark that he associated with no one but Draco. It was a comfortable prospect, and with some surprise, Harry found that he could imagine getting used to it.

His hands idly flattened the empty wrapping in his hand as he looked over to Draco’s empty bed with a weird mixture of longing, dread and anticipation. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew, deep in his soul, that something had been set into motion today, and while he was aching to know what the outcome would be, it scared him in equal measures.

_Just let things happen,_ Hermione had told him. “Well,” Harry sighed, letting himself fall onto his bed with heavy bones. “Here goes.”

  


Nothing much changed over the next couple of weeks - Draco still kept his distance to Harry, and Parkinson and Zabini flanked him at all times, glaring whenever he dared to look Draco’s direction.

Only now, Draco did not _ignore_ Harry any longer. When he noticed Harry looking, he caught his eyes, even gave him hesitant smiles. He did not go out of his way anymore to avoid Harry the way he used to, either. They crossed ways in their dormitory and in hallways, and when they did, Draco would greet him.

It wasn’t much, not at all, but it was enough to give Harry hope, a development that had not slipped the observations of his best friends. Whenever they were around to experience such a small interaction between them, Ron gave Harry what he had begun to call _the look_ : It was an unsettlingly un-Ron-ish expression of exasperation that, if Harry had to give it a title, he would name _‘I’d never have expected you to be more useless at romance than me’_. It made him feel about as intelligent as a troll; as if he had failed some basic intelligence test.

Hermione’s expressions, for a change, were less judgemental and more calculating, as if she was mentally filing away every observation to revisit later and make sense of them. And while it made Harry feel like a scientific project, he much preferred it to Ron’s _look_.

It wasn’t until the last February weekend that things progressed in a truly unexpected way. Friday night, when Harry withdrew to the silence of their dormitory after the end of a long day, he found Draco following him only moments later. At first, when the door opened, Harry had thought it a coincidence; that Draco was there to pick up some books and then return to the corner desk of the common room where he had seen him settled with Parkinson and Zabini earlier… But then Draco just leant with his back against the wooden door after it had fallen closed, staring at Harry. His grey eyes were wide and looked slightly lost, and Harry tensed immediately, feeling in his bones that something was not right.

“Are you okay?,” he asked softly.

Draco did not answer right away. Instead, he averted his eyes, studying the floor, as if trying to gather the courage to put what was bothering him into words. Or maybe, Harry thought with a tightening in his chest, he was fighting the need to turn his back on him again.

However, whatever it was that had brought Draco to him, he was going to do his best to help, Harry thought grimly. With that determination, he got to his feet and crossed the distance between Harry’s bed and the door, until he stood only a foot away from Draco.

“What is it?,” he asked again, very quietly, like Draco was an animal that would flee at the tiniest fright.

Finally, Draco let out a sigh, and he reached into his robe to withdraw a letter. He handed it to Harry, still not looking up.

Harry frowned down at the letter. It had been sealed with the Ministry’s crest, which had broken when the envelope had been opened. With a sinking feeling, pulled out the document from within, unfolding it and reading.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_the Department of Mysteries thanks you for your interest in a position within our Unspeakables Trainee Program. Unfortunately, we have to inform you that you are not currently eligible for a Ministry position. We ask you to understand that, with your involvement in the Second Wizarding War on the British Isles and your ongoing probation, we cannot consider employing you._

_However, if you keep a clean record in the future and further your professional education, you may contact us again after your probation period has come to an end._

_Kind regards,_

_Nathaniel O'hara_

_Head of Department of Mysteries_

_Ministry of Magic_

Harry looked up from the letter, staring at Draco in silence.

“I knew there was no way they’d consider employing me,” Draco said finally, his tone subdued. “I told you there was no way.”

“You did,” Harry agreed.

“But still…,” Draco whispered, closing his eyes. “A part of me was hoping I might be wrong.”

Harry gulped, his fingers tightening around the letter, crumbling it slightly. This was his fault, he thought guiltily. If he hadn’t encouraged Draco, he wouldn’t have to deal with the rejection now. On the other hand, if he hadn’t tried… then he’d never have known, and maybe, that would have been even worse.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” he said helplessly. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” Draco shook his head, opening his eyes to look at him again. “I just… I wanted to tell you. I never told Pansy and Blaise, because they’d have called me insane. You didn’t, though honestly, you should have.”

“Of all the things I’d call you insane for,” Harry frowned. “it’s not for wanting to make something of your life, Draco. It’s okay to have dreams, even if they might not end up coming true.”

Draco was just looking at him, his eyes glazed with moisture, and Harry didn’t think. Didn’t allow himself to think. Instead, he took the remaining step towards the other boy and pulled him into his arms.

Draco let himself be enveloped, resting his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. It was an awkward position, since Draco was taller than him, and had to slump against the door in a weird angle to make it work, but Harry didn’t care. Draco was warm against him, and he smelt familiar and god, Harry had missed him so freaking much.

They were interrupted by the door opening in Draco’s back, and he groaned in protest until Harry stepped back to make some space. Nott angrily swung the door open, almost hitting Draco once more, and entered the room in obvious irritation.

“If you have to snog each other, can you please to it some place where you won’t get in my way?!,” he snapped, rolling his eyes and making his way towards his trunk.

“Shut it,” Draco growled, though he flushed unhappily at his housemate's words.

Harry, though, couldn’t care less about Nott or what he was implying about them. He could still feel the heat on his skin where Draco had been pressed against him, and he could not let him go now. Not when they both needed this, like Harry was sure they did.

So he grabbed Draco’s wrist and gently tugged. Draco looked at him questioningly, but followed Harry over to his bed. He could hear Nott mutter something scathing, but Harry ignored him, instead crawling onto his mattress and pulling Draco onto it with him. The other boy seemed hesitant, but unable to fight him, so he came pliantly, and Harry pulled the curtains closed around him. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and performed a quick silencing charm. Nott’s voice fell away immediately.

“What are you doing?,” Draco asked in a small voice. He looked like a small, frightened animal more than ever - scared, but resigned to its fate in the face of a much larger predator.

“Shhh,” Harry shook his head, pulling him in. “Don’t talk now.”

And he didn’t. He let Harry envelop him again, tension draining from his body at the touch.

“I’m going to regret this,” he muttered, without conviction.

Harry just squeezed him tighter in response, resting the side of his head against Draco’s and closing his eyes in contentment.

  


When he woke the next morning, the first thing he noted was that he felt unusually well-rested. The second thing was that a warm body was pressed against him, twisting carefully to slip out of his embrace. His mind still fuzzy with sleep, he tightened his arms around them to make them fall back against his side.

“Harry?,” Draco whispered tentatively.

“Mhm,” he hummed without opening his eyes.

“Let me go. We fell asleep last night.”

It was then that Harry noticed that they were both still in their school robes, and a moment later, he remembered how they had ended up on his bed. His eyes flew open, and he blinked down at Draco.

The blond looked mussed and flushed, obviously embarrassed at the position he found himself in. He had probably planned on sneaking away without waking Harry. The thought made him frown.

“Are you going to go back to ignoring me?,” he blurted out, horrified at the thought.

Draco held in, scanning his face carefully.

“No,” he returned finally, and the tight pressure around Harry’s heart lifted slightly.

“Good,” he breathed and allowed Draco to get into a sitting position, at last.

Draco was still looking at him, and he wasn’t sure what the other was seeing on his face, but it seemed to chase the last traces of discomfort from his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For comforting me last night.”

“Thank you for coming to me,” Harry shrugged, meaning it. Draco smiled at that, and before Harry knew it, Draco had leant down to press a soft kiss against his forehead. Harry’s eyes fluttered closed, and he let the warm sensations spreading from the place where Draco’s lips touched his skin wash over him. It felt nice, in a way little had felt these days.

Draco did not linger, though. He pulled back, smiled at Harry once more, before swinging his legs off the bed and opening the curtains slightly.

“Don’t expect me to go easy on you later, though,” he joked, reminding Harry of their Quidditch match that afternoon. “I’m still going to kick your arse.”

Harry grinned automatically, bathing in the normality of their banter.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” he vowed.

  


Harry caught the Snitch before Draco this time, making them even with two victories each. The real victory for Harry, though, was when Draco just sat with him, Dean and Seamus in the common room later, lazily discussing the match around a couple of butterbeer Seamus had somehow procured, and decidedly not making any efforts of moving from Harry’s side. 


	7. March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the new chapter. It's a little shorter than my usual updates, but I hope it makes up for it content-wise :)
> 
> Before we start, a short note about the last chapter - it was only after posting that I realised a mistake I had made concerning the letter Draco received from the Ministry. Of course, Draco did not apply for the Auror Training Program, but for a position in the Department of Mysteries. My mind must not have been quite there when I wrote it - I corrected it, naturally, but I just wanted to make sure that there are no confusions, so I decided to mention it here once more. 
> 
> Now, I will stop talking and let you read :) Enjoy, and as always, please tell me what you think!

Chapter Seven: March

  


“So,” Ginny elbowed Harry during breakfast the first Monday in March, observing his face calculatingly. “I heard you were seen hanging out with Malfoy again. What’s up with that?”

“Is the rumour mill ever silent within this school?,” he muttered, out loud, making Ginny laugh.

“No,” she pointed out. “Though this time, the ‘rumor mill” carries my family name.”

“Ron!,” Harry groaned, glaring at his best friend, who was sitting across from him, innocently shuffling more bacon onto his plate.

“She asked a question, I answered,” he shrugged, no trace of guilt on his face. “No crime in that.” He hissed when Hermione harshly kicked his shin underneath the table, and Harry sent her a pleased smile.

“You should know by now that my brother can be a terrible gossip,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Drop it and answer my question.”

“There isn’t anything to tell,” Harry sighed. “We had a conversation, and he stopped avoiding me.”

“So you’re not dating?,” Ginny pinpointed, raising her eyebrows.

“No,” Harry agreed.

“That means he gave up on his romantic feelings for you and decided just to be friends?,” she pressed.

“Not exactly,” Harry replied.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!,” Ginny demanded irritatedly, throwing an enquiring look at Ron, who just shrugged at her meaningfully as he chewed.

“That we’re figuring things out in our own time,” Harry stated indignantly. “That is, if you can keep your noses out of my business.”

“I can’t,” Ginny returned bluntly. “I have a bet to win.”

“A bet?!,” Harry repeated incredulously.

“Yes,” she said sweetly. “People have been debating as to when you’d find someone new, and I thought, with my insider information, I’d have a head start. But if you keep dallying like this, I’ll lose my Galleons!”

“Your concern for my happiness is so touching,” Harry droned sarcastically.

“I know,” she smirked. “So, do you need me to give you a push, or can you manage on your own?”

“I need you to stay out of this,” Harry grumbled. “The situation is far too fragile for you to stomp in and mess it up.”

“Look at him trying to paint me the romantically hindered individual,” she told Ron and Hermione petulantly.

Ron was about to return something, but Hermione shushed them both in an urgent manner. They all frowned at her in confusion, before Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Draco smiling at him.

“Hey,” Harry blinked. “What are you doing over here?”

“Just wanted to drop something off,” Draco informed him, placing today’s edition of the _Daily Prophet_ next to his almost finished plate. The newspaper was turned to page twelve and folded so that only the lower half was visible. Before Harry could get a look at the article, though, Draco continued: “I thought it might be interesting. If not, just ignore it and throw it out.”

“Huh?,” Harry asked, eloquent as he was, trying to peer at the headline, but Draco just patted his shoulder and stepped back.

“See you in Transfiguration,” he waved into the round at large, and Hermione smiled back at him politely, while Ron grumbled something unintelligible in return. Ginny, though, was already squirming to look at the article Draco had left him.

“Quidditch tryouts?,” she frowned. “So he’s suggesting that- _oh_.”

Harry’s eyes flew over the little announcement, his heartbeat speaking up as he did. _Joined public tryouts… scouts of various professional clubs attending… hosted at Falmouth Falcon’s home stadium March 30th… for attendance, please owl the National Quidditch Association Re: Public Tryouts…_

“Is that something you could see yourself doing, Harry?,” Hermione asked curiously. “Playing Quidditch professionally?”

“I-” Harry started, unsure what to say. “You think I’m good enough?”

“Mate, you were the youngest player for your house team in a century!,” Ron reminded him. “Krum commended you on your flying. I think you have a shot.”

“If you really want to do it, Harry, I think you should try,” Hermione affirmed, expression serious.

Harry gulped, looking back at the article. The thought of playing Quidditch professionally filled him with excitement. The matches they organized within their year every month were the climax of every month for him, and being in the air was one of the few things he could name without doubt that had brought him pleasure these past few months.

“I can see myself doing it,” Harry admitted, making his best friends grin at him like those were the best news they had heard in ages.

“Oh, Harry, that’s wonderful!,” Hermione pronounced.

“Maybe you’ll be picked up by the Cannons!,” Ron exclaimed. “You could get me free tickets!”

“I think Harry can do better than the Cannons,” Ginny rolled her eyes, taking the article from Harry and scanning it. “Say, would you mind if I borrow this? This is… something I might consider, too.”

“Sure,” Harry nodded, getting to his feet. “Now if you’ll excuse me… I have to go find Draco.”

  


He caught up with Draco in front of the Transfiguration classroom, in easy conversation with Parkinson and Zabini. Zabini spotted Harry first, and his face darkened as he glowered at Harry, as if daring him to come over and risk his life. Draco picked up the change in his friends aura and turned around searchingly, smiling when his eyes fell on Harry.

“Off, Blaise!,” Draco told Zabini in an amused tone, which made the other boy redirect his scowl onto his fellow Slytherin.

“I’m not your crup!,” he hissed.

“He likes treating people as his pets,” Harry threw in, approaching with caution. Draco laughed at that, while Zabini just frowned, disregarding his joke. “Anyways, I came to thank you,” Harry continued, meeting Draco’s gaze. “For the article.”

“Nothing to thank for,” he shrugged, raising an eyebrow. “So, you’re considering it?”

“I actually am,” Harry admitted. “Playing professionally sounds like fun. I would be getting paid for what I love doing most.”

“That’s great,” Draco smiled, looking very pleased. “Finally a prospect you can settle on!”

“I’d need someone to train with me, though,” Harry pointed out meaningfully.

“You would,” Draco agreed serenely. “You’re still hopelessly out of form.”

“It was enough to beat you two times,” Harry reminded him defensively, but Draco rolled his eyes, waving him off.

“It would have been boring if I’d beaten you every time. Gotta throw the competition some bites to keep it interesting.”

“Of course,” Harry retorted, quite sarcastically. “You are so kind.”

“I know,” Draco smirked. “And because I’m so kind, I’ll train you. I’m sure you would profit from my expertise.”

“How generous,” Harry rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “What about you? Will you try out, too?,” he added, strangely hopeful.

“Nah,” Draco frowned, shaking his head. “Quidditch is fun, but I’d get bored, doing it for a living. I need to be intellectually challenged in my future profession. Not that you’d know anything about that,” Draco drawled, and Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “What?,” Draco added innocently. “You’re simple-minded. It’s a good thing.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Harry retorted, but he got distracted when he took note of Pansy and Blaise staring him down. It was a threatening sight, no doubt, but they also looked contemplative, as if they were trying to analyse him, and somehow, that made him more nervous than anything else. “Well, anyways. Thank you,” Harry said again, clasping his hand on Draco’s shoulder in a friendly manner. “I’ll meet you tonight in our dorm?”

“Sure,” Draco nodded, and at that moment, Professor Hopkins opened the classroom door.

“Hello there,” she smiled at them. “Come in, come in! Since you’re early, you can help me distribute the test objects we’re working on today. But be careful - the faeries might bite if you grab them too harshly or mess up their hair.”

  


The following weeks were the most optimistic Harry had felt in a long while - not only did he have an immediate prospect, something to work towards, but every night, he went out flying with Draco before they returned to their dormitories and did their homework together. In a way, things were like they used to be, but Harry was much more conscious of the time he spent with Draco than he had been before. Every time their eyes caught, or Draco smiled at him, or they touched casually, he tried to search himself for any clues, anything that would somehow explain what it was that made Draco different from his other friends.

He had spent a lot of his free moments imagining what would change between them if they started dating, and while that outlook had unsettled him in the beginning, now, it filled him with a strange sort of curiosity. What kind of partner would Draco be? As a friend, he had been attentive, if somewhat reserved, and overall supportive. Would that change in a relationship? Would that reservation of his dissolve as the trust grew between them, and give way to other patterns of behaviour he hadn’t been able to show before? Possessiveness, maybe? Jealousy? Demandingness? Would he be a very affectionate boyfriend, or would he be more like Harry, who had always been very awkward in this aspect?

He did not voice these contemplations to Ron and Hermione, naturally. Ron would exasperatedly tell him just to find out and stop obsessing, and Hermione would try to analyse his curiosity, and none of that was what he needed. What he was looking for instead, quite desperately, was some sort of sign; some abstract revelation that told Harry that yes, this was the person he wanted to be with. Because knowing how Draco felt, it did not feel right, agreeing to agree to date him based on curiosity, just as it would have been wrong to do it just for the sake of keeping him close. No, if he dated him, he wanted to be sure that they felt the same. He deserved nothing less.

So he waited and observed, and with every night they spent in each other’s company, Harry felt a little less lost. It was remarkable, the effect Draco had on him without consciously doing anything. It was like Harry was a puzzle that had been scattered through the years of war and pain, and now, with every day, another piece fell back into place. It had started back in October, when they had first spent time together, but now, he felt like the puzzle was almost complete, only stray parts that had still to be recovered, and when he finally found them, everything would be clear to him, at last.

As the last week of March rolled around, and the icy wind turned into a more gentle breeze, announcing the first feelers of spring, the Public Tryouts approached, and Harry grew more nervous by the day. Draco, though, seemed not the least bit worried about the outcome of the tryouts, and Harry found that in equal parts unsettling and reassuring.

“Do you think I am good enough?,” Harry asked him, the night before the tryouts, when they had returned to the ground after their practice and made their way back up to the castle.

“Of course,” Draco scoffed. “I wouldn’t have suggested the whole thing to you if I didn’t!” When Harry just frowned at him, unconvinced, he added: “We’ve been training for weeks, Harry, and honestly, you’re in better form than you’ve ever been before. They’d be stupid not to pick you up. And not only because the ticket sales would skyrocket for any team you played for.”

Harry grimaced, not quite as pleased with that mental image, and Draco chuckled.

“People might not be happy, though,” Harry pointed out. “They rely on me to make the Wizarding World a safe place, remember?”

Draco rolled his eyes at that.

“You did your part,” he shrugged. “The world doesn’t need more saving. If anything, it needs more happiness.”

“True,” Harry smiled.

“Besides,” Draco said slowly, staring straight ahead, up the path they were walking. “I was there when you first rode a broom, remember? People say you’re meant to fight, but honestly, I think what you’re really meant for is this. You look much better up in the air than you do in a battle.”

Something about Draco’s words touched Harry in a very deep place, one that he hadn’t accessed in a long, long time, and suddenly, something seemed to click inside him. His eyes travelled over Draco’s profile, and he saw the boy whose life had been irrevocably entwined with his, who had always seen him with different eyes than the rest of the world, and now, maybe, for the first time in their lives, they both saw each other clearly.

The way it was meant to be.

Harry reached out for Draco’s wrist, and as his fingers closed around it, Draco looked up at him, frowned.

“Hm?,” he hummed questioningly, and when Harry came to a sudden hold, he halted, as well. “Harry?,” he asked, confused.

But Harry didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled Draco close with a sudden determination. Draco gasped when Harry’s free hand cupped his neck, applying enough pressure that he had to incline his head, and then, Harry covered the blonde’s lips with his own.

And it felt so right, so perfect, that Harry’s heart seemed to sing. It was like he was finally taking the first breath of air after being underwater for too long, when really, his breath seemed to have been stolen by this boy he was kissing. _At last._

Draco was completely still, and yet, Harry felt him trembling where they touched. He forced himself to rule in the emotions that were crashing around him in irrefutable waves, and pulled back just enough to be able to lock his eyes with wide, grey ones, trying to convey everything he was feeling through his eyes alone.

Draco’s voice was croaked and shaky when he spoke, and he was surprisingly ineloquent for someone who prided himself on his poise.

“...Harry?”

Harry smiled softly at him, and let go of Draco’s wrist to push a strand of wind-ruffled hair off his forehead with a tenderness he did not know he had in him.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” Harry murmured, his own voice rough. “But if you still want me…”

He did not finish his sentence, but he did not need to. Draco let out a broken exhale, and then, they were kissing again. Trembling arms closed around Harry’s waist, pulling them flush together. Draco’s body was hard and lean, sharp edges and heat, and it felt so incredibly good to be this close.

Draco whispered his name against his lips once more, in a strange, wondrous desperation that made Harry knot his fingers in the soft hair near the base of Draco’s neck and kiss him again, and again, until all he knew was Draco’s taste and scent and feel, and everything else disappeared.

  


“I wish you the best of luck!,” Hermione said reverently as she pulled away from their embrace, turning to Ginny to hug her, too. “Both of you!”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry smiled, grinning when Ron patted his shoulder in a brotherly way.

“Remember,” Ron said with a smirk. “There’s no team like the Cannons! You’d make my life if you’d play for them.”

“I don’t think orange is quite his colour, Weasley,” a third voice noted, and Harry’s smile grew as he looked around, finding Draco approaching them from the doors of the Great Hall, where most of their fellow students were still having breakfast. “In fact, the Falcon’s grey would suit him much better.”

“Shut it,” Harry laughed, pushing past Ron to meet Draco halfway across the entrance hall. “You’re not getting to choose my team, especially not before anyone has offered me a position.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Draco replied innocently. He was smiling, though, in a gentle way that Harry wasn’t used to and that sent thrills up and down Harry’s spine. “Good luck, though I don’t think you need it,” he shrugged. “You have all the ability you need.”

Harry grinned, and after only a split-second of hesitation, he pulled Draco into a swift kiss. He could hear the other three gasping behind him, but he couldn’t care less with the way Draco was smiling against his lips.

“I’ll see you later,” Harry muttered, pressing their lips together one more time before pulling back.

When he turned, Ginny was grinning, Hermione seemed overjoyed, and Ron looked halfway through a grimace, grudging yet resigned. Harry just smirked, grabbing his broom a little tighter.

“Let’s go, Gin!”


	8. April

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! First I have to say how terribly sorry I am for my long silence! I have no excuse other than my complete drowning in my other fandom. Please be patient with me. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this new chapter, and the way Harry and Draco's relationship develops from now on!

Chapter Eight: April

  


“I told you, Ronald,” Hermione groaned. “Our NEWTs Examinations are only two months away. You can’t always distract me from studying!”

“I’m not _always_ distracting you,” Ron protested, quite guiltily, in Harry’s opinion. “You are _always_ studying. I’m just _sometimes_ suggesting we do something else.”

“ _Sometimes_ being _several times a day_?,” Harry threw in with a grin, biting his lip when Ron threw him a look of utter betrayal.

“Exactly,” Hermione huffed, squirming in the circle of Ron’s arms to get away from him, but the redhead just tightened his grip on his girlfriend. “Just let me read through my notes on this chapter, will you? You can have all the attention you want after.”

Ron grinned at that, opening his mouth to respond, but Harry cut him off with a firm: “And that’s all the information I need on that matter, if you please.”

Ron kicked him from his spot on the couch, and Harry pulled his legs onto the armchair he was occupying in retaliation.

“Don’t damage him, Weasley,” Draco’s voice came from across the common room, and Harry’s head whirled around to spot the Slytherin near the entrance, flanked by Parkinson and Zabini. He was smirking, and Harry felt a smile spreading over his own lips at the sight. “I would be very cross with you.”

“Draco,” Harry called, waving him over. “You’re just the person I need.”

“Oh?,” Draco asked, leaving his friends to occupy their usual table near the windows and making his way across the room towards Harry. “And what do you need me for?”

“A potions-related question,” Harry improvised, shifting a little on the spacey arm chair to make space next to him.

“And you can’t ask Granger right here because…?,” Draco asked, lowering his butt against the armrest of Harry’s chair. Harry, unsatisfied, pulled on Draco’s arm, and with a slight yelp, he slid into the free space next to him, pressed up against Harry’s side. Harry dropped one arm around Draco’s waist for good measure, much more content with the situation now.

“Because she is busy bickering with Ron,” he shrugged, nuzzling Draco’s temple with his nose. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Ron snorted at that, but Harry ignored him. Draco hummed in acknowledgement, smiling.

“Fine. What is it you need help with, then?,” he prodded, directing his gaze to the book in Harry’s hand.

“Um,” Harry said, quite eloquently, looking at the page for inspiration. His hesitation, though, did not escape Draco’s notice, who was scanning his face again, one eyebrow raised.

“There is no question,” he pointed out. “You were just making an excuse to cuddle.”

“Well,” Harry shrugged, smirking. “Sue me.”

“You two are insufferable,” Hermione muttered, but she was smiling at her book in fondness. “You and Ron both.”

“Must be a Gryffindor thing, then,” Draco noted, amused, and Harry rolled his eyes at him. “No discipline at all. I exclude you, Granger,” he added, throwing a look over at Hermione. “You’re the exception that proves the rule.”

Hermione chuckled at that, and Harry pulled Draco closer to draw his attention back to himself.

“Stop being smart with me and enjoy my affection,” Harry complained, scowling. “I was under the impression that you’ve wanted it for quite some time.”

“Oh, I’ll never stop being smart with you,” Draco teased. “You make it far too easy.”

Harry clicked his tongue in irritation and leaned in to silence Draco with a kiss. Ron made a gagging sound. Harry held up a finger without breaking the kiss. Draco sighed against his lips, melting into the embrace despite his earlier indignation.

“I do have to read that chapter for Arithmancy, though,” he eventually murmured into the kiss, but Harry refused to stop brushing their lips together.

“Some other time,” he whispered.

“I’ve class tomorrow,” Draco pointed out, moving one hand onto Harry’s chest as if to push him away, but just resting it there instead.

“Later,” Harry coaxed, nibbling on Draco’s bottom lip.

“Oh, Merlin’s beard!,” Hermione huffed. “Let the poor boy breathe, Harry. It’s 20 pages and then you can have your go at him.” Ron covered his ears and sang loudly to cover his girlfriend’s words, and Hermione elbowed him, laughing.

“Fine,” Harry sighed heavily, pecking Draco’s lips once more before pulling back. “But you’re staying here. You’re warm and comfy.”

“I need my book,” Draco pointed out, his cheeks pleasantly flushed, and Harry felt considerably proud of himself for putting that colour on his skin.

Grumbling, Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and called: “ _Accio_ Draco’s book!” It only occurred to him that he probably should have specified the book he needed when Terry, on his way to his dorm, yelped and jumped against the wall to make room for a swarm of books flying into their direction. Harry managed to drop them onto the floor in front of them just before they struck them in the head.

“Well done, Potter,” Draco noted drily. “Fifty points to Gryffindor.”

Harry spotted Draco’s Arithmancy book and picked it up, hiding his embarrassment behind a cheeky smile as he handed it to his boyfriend. “There you go,” he shrugged.

Draco laughed, shaking his head as he took the book from Harry’s hands and opened it.

Across the room, Harry could see Parkinson and Zabini watching the pair of them suspiciously. He chose to ignore them, instead squeezing his arm around Draco and returning his attention to his own book.

  


Harry felt a little like he was on a constant dose of Felix Felicis. Being with Draco was easy like nothing else had been, not only since the end of the war, but even a long time before that. They fit in a way he didn’t think was possible. It seemed like he didn’t even have to exert any effort into their relationship; it all fell into place without conscious thought.

Draco was as indulging a boyfriend as he had been a friend. He didn’t press Harry to talk when he didn’t feel like it, and didn’t ask for any elaboration regarding Harry’s emotions, or even demand attention. Instead, he let Harry come to him - and come, Harry did: If it was to snuggle with him throughout studying, or for some easy banter between classes or stolen kisses in deserted corners of the castle, Harry always found himself reaching out to Draco with a neediness he hadn’t suspected he possessed. The more time he spent with Draco, the more he seemed to be drawn to him, to his smiles and his touches and kisses. Harry had spent all this time thinking and thinking about his feelings, but curiously enough, in Draco’s presence, he felt no need to think. He just _felt_ , and it was blissful to not have to ponder your own emotions any longer; to just know that you liked what was happening, and that you wanted it to stay this way.

His friends seemed similarly pleased with the development. He caught more than one happy smile of Hermione’s as she watched him with Draco. Ginny was teasing him mercilessly about his terrible taste in men (which, on one occasion, Draco countered with pointing out that she was dating a _Hufflepuff_ , so really, she had no right to talk. The following heated parol on the benefits of dating a Hufflepuff cured Draco from ever crossing her again), but their conversations had become more relaxed and all in all she, too, seemed satisfied with Harry’s choice, despite her scepticism towards the start of the school year. Ron was complaining about Draco without pause, even more so when Draco was perfectly polite to him, but never once was he aggressive or downright hostile the way he would have been only months ago, so Harry knew better than to take him seriously.

The only two people who continued to be thoroughly suspicious of their relationship were Parkinson and Zabini. Harry couldn’t exactly blame them; he knew that to them, it had seemed like he’d played Draco all these months, so naturally, they didn’t approve of their proximity now. Though Draco had told them in clear terms that it was none of their business and he would not tolerate any meddling, Harry could feel their eyes on him more than once each day, and it made him increasingly uncomfortable.

“Don’t mind them,” Draco frowned at him one evening as they were huddled together in front of the fire, going through their notes for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Harry had just let himself be distracted by the burning eyes from across the room, enough that Draco had noted the tension in Harry’s shoulders and followed his gaze. “Who cares what they think?”

“I care,” Harry scowled. “They’re your friends. I don’t want them to hate me.”

“It’s not like your friends like me,” Draco pointed out. “They tolerate me, but no more.”

“They think you’re good for me,” Harry muttered. “Which is much more than we can say about yours.” Draco sighed disapprovingly and flicked his finger painfully against Harry’s forehead, right on the scar, a form of punishment he had picked up for whenever he was dissatisfied with the direction of Harry’s thoughts. “Ouch,” Harry grumbled, glaring half-heartedly at him.

“I decide what’s good for me,” Draco announced. “The sooner they, and you, get used to that, the sooner we can lower our wands and put this battle to rest.” When Harry didn’t answer, Draco added: “You have to stop presenting them any weaknesses to latch onto. If they realize they make you insecure, they will continue to do so. So just ignore them and focus on us.”

“That’s a Slytherin thing, right?,” Harry mused.

“Maybe,” Draco pursed his lips. “You don’t really survive for long within the walls of our common room if you give your house mates room to attack. So, by rule, we just pretend to be sure of ourselves, even if we have no clue what we’re doing.”

“Still glad I fought the Sorting Head,” Harry snorted, shaking his head.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want you as a Slytherin, either,” Draco agreed with a smirk. “You’d be near impossible to manipulate. It would be exhausting.”

“Remind me again of why I thought dating you was a good idea,” Harry huffed, but the arm thrown over Draco’s back and the fingers drawing absentminded patterns across the fabric of his school robes belied the question as rhetorical.

“Because I’m strikingly handsome, ingeniously smart and all-over charming,” Draco drawled, turning to the next page of his notes and skimming over them with a hum. “Bollocks,” he muttered a moment later, making a face. “I forgot about the sodding Patronus.”

“You still haven’t managed to produce one?,” Harry asked, bewildered.

“I haven’t really tried recently,” Draco admitted. “My last attempt was sometime in January, and well… That didn’t go all that well.”

“You were upset in January,” Harry pointed out. “You’re not anymore, are you?”

“No,” Draco conceded with a soft smile. “As it happens, I’m quite content.”

“Then it seems like the perfect moment to try again,” Harry smiled back, brushing his lips against Draco’s temple tenderly.

“You mean here? Now?,” Draco asked, sounding uncomfortable.

“Sure,” Harry shrugged. “If Ernie can almost blow the common room up with a miscalculated atmospheric charm, you can try a Patronus.”

“I guess,” Draco frowned. “I just hate making a fool of myself in public.”

“You won’t,” Harry promised, kissing his temple again. “I know it will work this time. Just think about me.”

“You’re horribly full of yourself, you know,” Draco snickered.

“You told me not to show weaknesses towards Slytherins.”

“You make a fair point,” Draco chortled. Then he took a deep breath and pulled out his wand. “Here goes,” he muttered. Draco closed his eyes to focus, and Harry leant the side of his head against Draco’s in silent support. His eyes hung on the tip of Draco’s wand.

“ _Expecto Patronum,”_ Draco said finally. The words were soft, and if Harry had not been that close to him, he wouldn’t have heard him at all. It didn’t make any difference, though. The magic flew easily from Draco’s wand, not at all foggy and blurred as it had been all these months ago in class, but shaping up into the clear lines of a corporeal patronus. Harry held his breath, and when Draco opened his eyes, he gasped. As did some other students in the room as the Patronus once soared through the room at large before it came to a halt right in front of them once more, cocking its head and watching Draco with something resembling curiosity. The long neck was curved into an elegant arch, the button-like eyes sharply focused on Draco. The wings fluttered once, twice, before they folded against the body, feathers still fluffed.

“It’s a swan,” Harry whispered, breaking the awed silence.

“A black swan,” Draco corrected. “We have them sometimes at the Manor. Mother hates them. She says they look unrefined next to their white cousins. I always liked them, though. I thought they were special.”

“I think it fits you well,” Harry smiled. “Elegant. Strong. And yes, special.”

Draco grinned at that, and when he met Harry’s eyes, the Patronus faded into thin air.

“I did it,” Draco breathed, sounding ecstatic. “I can conjure a Patronus.”

“Told you,” Harry teased. “You just needed the right memory.”

Draco hummed and leaned in to kiss Harry softly. Then, he raised his wand again and repeated the spell, his eyes following the swan as it flew across the room, mesmerised.

“It’s so pretty,” Hannah Abbot cooed from where she was sprawled on the rug not far from them with Susan Bones, and her friend nodded in agreement.

“It really is,” Hermione noted from the couch. “If I remember correctly, swans symbolise grace, beauty, and love.”

“You just made that last one up,” Draco accused.

“No!,” Hermione said indignantly. “Have you ever seen swans imprinting on each other? Or attacking in order to protect their companions?”

“Well,” Draco frowned. “I guess you have a point.”

“I think it suits you,” Hermione shrugged, before returning her attention to the book in her hand.

Draco smiled at that, and mustered the Patronus as it landed in front of them once more, preening.

  


Despite Draco’s breakthrough in conjuring a Patronus and their general emotional high, Harry could feel Draco growing more tense day by day regarding the prospect of the approaching examinations. He never said anything to Harry, and he didn’t object all too harshly to Harry’s interruptions when he was studying, but sometimes, Harry found him going through his notes long after everyone else had gone to sleep, and the lack of rest and the worry showed visibly on his face when he thought Harry wasn’t looking. Harry wasn’t sure how to approach the topic, though, as Draco seemed so adamant to not let him see his nerves that it seemed almost cruel to prove his efforts useless. He was worried, though, and a nagging voice in Harry’s head kept pointing out that, even though Harry revealed basically everything to Draco nowadays, the Slytherin still kept a part of him in the dark.

When towards the end of April, though, Harry woke up in the death of the night and noted dim light shining through the closed curtains of Draco’s bed, Harry felt he couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. So he quietly got out of bed and tiptoed over to Draco’s, pulling the curtains open.

Draco was leaning against the headboard, his dark silk pajamas the only feeble sign of any intent to sleep at any point in the near future. Notes from various subjects lay scattered over the mattress alongside open books, and the tip of his wand was illuminated as he skipped through some pages of their Herbology book. He looked up when Harry appeared at his bedside, blinking at him owlishly.

“Hi,” he muttered softly. “Why aren’t you asleep? Is everything alright?”

Harry scowled at the concern in his voice, as it seemed almost mocking in the face of Draco’s self-destructive work habits.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Harry grumbled, lowering himself on some rare empty space on Draco’s pillow and pulling the curtains closed behind him. He cast some silencing charms onto them to give them privacy. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing, Draco?”

Draco frowned, looking at the book in his hand in confusion.

“Studying?,” he pointed out the obvious.

“No, really?,” Harry scoffed. “I can see that. What I want to know is why you’re doing it _now_ , when every normal person is asleep.”

Understanding dawned on Draco’s face, and he avoided Harry’s eyes, gingerly closing the book. He didn’t answer, though, and Harry’s patience ran thin. He was far too tired to hide his frustration.

“I know this is not the first time, either,” he therefore continued. “If you really think I don’t notice the shadows under your eyes, you must imagine me more stupid than I realised.”

Draco sighed, and with a flick of his own wand, all papers and books stacked themselves and ducked obediently out of the curtains and into Draco’s trunk.

“I just hoped I wasn't obvious,” Draco shrugged finally. “I didn’t want to alarm you.”

“Well, you did,” Harry huffed. “Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? I know I’m far from being an open person but…” Harry gulped, looking away. “Have I done anything to make you think you can’t trust me?”

“No,” Draco protested, running a hand over his face in a gesture of exhaustion. “Oh, sod it,” he muttered. “That wasn’t what I was trying to do at all. Of course I trust you. I’ve just been freaking out over the NEWTs, and because things between us have been going so well, I didn’t want to put a damper on it. I know it’s stupid, but you looked so happy lately. I wanted it to stay that way.”

Draco looked utterly miserable at that pronouncement, and Harry couldn’t help but catch the other boy’s hand in his and run idle circles over his palm with a finger tips.

“I’m happy because I feel like I can finally be myself again,” Harry explained softly. “And that’s because I know you, and my friends too, support me no matter what. And I want you to feel the same way around me.”

Draco’s shoulders slumped visibly, and he closed his eyes.

“I do,” Draco whispered. “You’re the reason I find the energy to work that hard. I’m just scared because the NEWTs are so bloody important to me. Outstanding results are my only opportunity of getting any job at all, and I _need_ a job, because I can’t go back to the Manor after Hogwarts and I won’t have any money to sustain myself without a job.”

Harry took a moment to process Draco’s words due to the lateness of the hour.

“Why can’t you go home?,” he asked finally, staring at Draco’s profile in the dull light of his wand, uncomprehending. “I know your father isn’t pleased about your plans, but surely-”

“I’m disowned, Harry,” Draco interrupted him, and at last, he turned to meet his gaze.

Harry gaped at him.

“What?!,” he yelped, and he was glad he had put up the silencing charms because the volume of his voice had grown significantly in his shock. “Why?!”

“Because I came out to them during Christmas holidays,” Draco explained, grimacing. “Before you say anything, it had nothing to do with you. Or at least, not directly. I was upset because of what happened with you, but it’s not like I had any reason to believe that we would end up together. But Father kept pushing the subject of marriage, and at some point, I just exploded and told him I’m never going to marry a pureblood witch because I’m gay.” Draco shrugged again, a little helplessly. “You can imagine the rest.”

“He disowned you because you’re into boys?!,” Harry clarified, overwhelmed by the sudden, all-encompassing anger he felt for Lucius Malfoy. “After everything that happened - that _he_ put you through - he just drops you like that?!”

“He doesn’t react well to disobedience,” Draco declared tiredly. “And a gay son won’t produce an heir. It’s the end of the bloodline. I always knew he wouldn’t be able to accept that.”

“But your mother-”

“Mother is the only reason I wasn’t flung onto the street on Christmas day,” Draco injected. “She threatened Father that she would leave with me, so he didn’t remove me forcefully from the estate. That’s about all the mercy I can expect, though.”

“That utter prick,” Harry snarled, and he dropped Draco’s hand to ball his own into a fist. “I wished I hadn’t bailed him out of Azkaban!”

“Well,” Draco droned. “Never mind him. It’s not like I _wanted_ to return to that house after graduation. It’s just become more urgent now that I build myself a future. Because I don’t have a safety net anymore.”

“You can’t honestly think you will be on the street if you don’t find a job right away,” Harry prodded, raising his eyebrows at him. “Don’t you know me at all?”

Draco closed his eyes, looking like he had feared to hear those words from Harry.

“I can’t let you _keep me_ , Harry,” Draco said with an edge. “Do you know what people would say? I’d be that Ex-Death Eater that’s using the Boy Who Lived as a Gringotts vault!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!,” Harry shot back.

“You know that’s what they’ll say!,” Draco argued, grey eyes hard as they met his again. “I’ll have to suffer through all kind of shit from the general public as it is if our relationship leaks to the press, but I’m _not_ going to prove them right with their assumptions of me!”

“I don’t care what everyone thinks!,” Harry groaned. “Fact is, I’m not going to sit back and let you fall when things get rough! I’m your boyfriend, and you have to allow me to catch you!” Draco looked pained at those words, and it was enough to make Harry reach for his hand again. “If it’s really that important to you, you can pay me back when you found work,” Harry muttered. “But I have more money to my name than I’ll ever know what to do with, and it’s definitely enough to keep us both over water until things settled a little. It will definitely be enough to find a decent apartment together after leaving Hogwarts.”

Draco smiled weakly at that.

“Did you just ask me to move in with you?,” he joked.

“Looks like I did,” Harry chuckled. “You think we’re moving too fast?”

“Considering the pace with which we crawled towards this relationship, I guess it evens out,” Draco huffed, and he leaned in to rest his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. Harry immediately pulled Draco into an embrace, relieved by the proximity.

“Is this really okay?,” Draco asked quietly. “You won’t feel like I’m using you?”

“How could I, when you were fighting me so hard?,” Harry scoffed, but he pressed a gentle kiss to Draco’s throat. “Let me be there for you,” he pleaded. “I care about you, and I _want_ to help. You don’t have to do everything alone.”

“It’s hard for me, to ask for help,” Draco mumbled. “I can’t jump over my shadow.”

“Try,” Harry whispered. “Please. I feel so useless if you won’t trust me with your problems.”

“You’re not useless,” Draco promised, finally looking up and meeting his eyes again. “You’re the most precious thing in my life. Never doubt that.”

Harry smiled and leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. When he pulled away, Draco’s eyes stayed closed, and he leaned further into Harry’s embrace.

“I am pretty tired now,” he admitted, making Harry smile.

“Let’s sleep, then,” Harry said, manoeuvring both of their bodies under the blanket. “We can still talk tomorrow.”

Draco hummed in response, and one arm fell over Harry’s waist underneath the covers, discreetly tugging him just that tiny bit closer.

  


For once, Harry woke before Draco the next morning. The sun had already risen and was shining through the windows of their dormitory, filtering through the dark green curtains of Draco’s bed. There was no movement around them, and Harry wasn’t sure whether that meant it was early enough for Malone and Nott to still be asleep, or late enough that everyone was already at breakfast. With one look at the way Draco’s face was pressed against Harry’s shoulder, chest rising in even breaths, Harry decided that he didn’t care which it was. Draco was peaceful in his sleep, and now knowing the full extent of his boyfriend’s exhaustion after their conversation last night, he wasn’t going to wake him for anything in the world. Plus, it was a Tuesday, which meant they didn’t have class until late morning, and if they missed breakfast, they could still sneak down to the kitchens before Flitwick’s lesson.

So, instead of grabbing around for his wand or watch, he very gently ran the tip of his finger over Draco’s sharp cheekbone and smiled to himself.

“Idiot,” he scolded fondly, voice so low that he barely heard himself. “Let me take care of you. Don’t just focus on solving my problems and hide your own. That kind of selfless behaviour doesn’t suit you.”

Draco just slept on, thankfully, and Harry carefully leaned his head against Draco’s before closing his eyes, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short remarks to Draco's Patronus: I thought long and hard about what his Patronus might be, and, in a spontaneous decision made months ago, decided to create a Pottermore account in Draco's name and take the Patronis Quiz for him. This is what came out of it, and I absolutely loved it. It fits Draco so well, I think, and I hope you agree with me! (Sorry to everyone who thought Draco's Patronus would be Harry's stag. I hope you're not too disappointed.)


	9. May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize for the long wait. I have been working on another project my overactive fantasy threw at me, and haven't been able to divide my time well. Here you finally have the new chapter, though! I hope you enjoy it :)

Chapter Nine: May

  


Harry uncomfortably shifted on the grass, trying to look anywhere but into the piercing eyes of the Slytherins across from him.

It was Draco, naturally, who had sprung the idea of spending time with his friends at him about a week ago.

“You can’t hide from them forever,” he had reasoned, exasperated in the face of Harry’s lack of enthusiasm regarding his idea.

“I’m not hiding,” Harry had murmured. “I’m just avoiding people who want hex off my head and put it on a wall as decoration.”

“That’s grotesque,” Draco had commented, grimacing in both disgust and intrigue. “Where did you get that idea from?”

“Your family,” Harry had muttered darkly. “That’s what the Blacks used to do with their house elves.”

“Sounds like them,” Draco had nodded, clearly amused. “Pansy won’t do anything so disgusting, though. She has taste. Blaise… well, a trophy of the Savior’s head would certainly be tempting for him-”

“Why do you want me to spend time with these people?,” Harry had demanded, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

“Because they’re my friends, and I want them to warm up towards you,” Draco had explained with exaggerated patience, as if Harry was a rebelling toddler threatened with bedtime. “Or at least, it would be nice if they could tolerate you enough not to hex off your head and use it as a wall decoration. Your hair might be a monstrosity, but I quite like it attached to you.”

“And you think spending time with them will do that?,” Harry had scoffed, ignoring the jab.

“It’s worth a try,” Draco had shrugged, and that’s how they found themselves here today, on a sunny Saturday spread out on the grass near the lake. Harry’s head was still on his neck, but he wrote that up to the presence of Ron and Hermione, who he had insisted to join them. If they were going to play happy Hogwarts family, he needed some more Gryffindors on his side.

He threw a look towards his friends out of the corner of his eyes, and was satisfied to see that Ron’s glare was just as hostile as those of Parkinson and Zabini. Hermione’s expression was neutral as she browsed through her Arithmancy notes, but then again, her self-control had always been far more remarkable than his and Ron’s combined.

Draco sighed heavily from next to him, pushing today’s Prophet away from him with a look of frustration.

“All these apartment ads are ridiculous,” he complained. “‘No fireplace’ - who sells something like that?! ‘Muggle-owned’ - yeah, right. ‘In direct vicinity to Gwydyr Forest’ - Sure, as if I’d like to have a fairy infestation twice a year. ‘In the midst of Diagon Alley’ - At that rate, we can move right into the Daily Prophet editorial, with how much we will be stalked.”

“I wouldn’t mind Muggle-owned,” Harry mused. “At least there’d be no reporters.”

“I’m not moving anywhere Muggle,” Draco protested, looking scandalised. “Who knows how they build their houses! They might collapse around us in our sleep!”

“Muggle houses are perfectly safe, Draco,” Hermione noted pointedly.

“Be that as it may,” Draco frowned. “Do you know how much accidental violation of the Statute of Secrecy happens to wizards living in Muggle houses?”

“He’s got a point,” Ron muttered. “I could tell you stories about my uncle Angus…”

“Please spare us, Weasley,” Parkinson noted, rolling her eyes.

“I still don’t get why you have to move out,” Zabini said moodily.

“What part of ‘I’m disowned’ do you not understand, Blaise?!,” Draco snapped.

“Your mother wouldn’t let him throw you out,” Zabini insisted. “Narcissa would poison Lucius before that happened. And make it seem like suicide while at it.”

“Well, I’d rather not have it come to that,” Draco retorted drily. “Plus, I don’t want to return somewhere I’m not welcome.”

“You could come to our place,” Zabini shrugged. “Mum won’t mind, she’s busy with the plans for her upcoming wedding.”

“She’s marrying again?,” Parkinson frowned. “That’s what? Her eighth wedding?”

“Ninth,” Zabini rolled his eyes. “Don’t ask. I think she’s trying to crack the ten before the Millennium is over. But that’s not the point,” his eyes zoomed back on Draco pointedly.

“I appreciate your offer, Blaise,” Draco sighed. “But I think I’d be happier moving in with Harry.” Zabini looked like he clearly doubted that. “That is, once we found an appropriate apartment,” Draco added, glaring at the abandoned newspaper.

“I would ask my uncle Leopold to make you a good deal on one of his estates,” Parkinson drawled. “But he won’t rent out to you if you’re living with a Half-blood.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Draco returned firmly. “I know the estates Leopold owns, Pansy, and if I wanted to live like that, we could just as well move into Great-Aunt Black’s old house.”

Harry shuddered at the thought.

“No. We’re not moving into Grimmauld Place.”

“Though at least it would be free of reporters,” Hermione joked. Draco snorted.

“Something will come up,” Harry shrugged. “It’s still two months till we graduate.”

“Only two months,” Draco stressed. “Don’t you realise that, even if we find something suitable, the chances of the owner agreeing to rent out to a former Death Eater are going to be scarce?”

“I want to see them trying to refuse me,” Harry scoffed.

“And if they do, you could let the story slip to the Prophet,” Ron suggested. “They’d have a field day. ‘Boy Who Lived - Not Good Enough To Rent An Apartment?!’”

“Very funny,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Seriously, though. You’re with me. I don’t think anyone will refuse.”

“You underestimate people’s hostility towards my family, I think,” Draco sighed. “But I’ll be glad to be proven wrong.”

“Speaking of your family,” Parkinson said suddenly, staring upwards. “Draco, isn’t that your owl?”

They all followed her gaze to watch a large brown eagle owl descent towards them in elegant flight.

“Adonis!,” Draco muttered in surprise, holding out his arm. The owl landed on it gracefully, fluffing up its feathers and hooting as if in greeting. “What are you doing here?,” Draco asked, looking at it questioningly. The answer was an outstretched talon, of which Draco quickly freed a rolled up letter.

“It’s from Mother,” he announced as he opened it, skimming over the neat script. A silence fell over them, which was only broken by the shuffling of Hermione’s notes and the sounds of Ron absentmindedly tearing blades out of the grass. Draco’s owl watched him in disdain, and Harry had to smile.

“Harry,” Draco said suddenly, looking up at him. “Mother might have found us an apartment!”

“What?!,” Harry asked, flabbergasted. “How?!”

“She talked to a friend of the family, who has his hands in wizarding real estates,” he explained. “And apparently he has an opening in Edinburgh. One Bedroom, Living-Dining-Kitchen, Fireplace, Second Floor. It’s located about ten minutes from the Wizarding district of the city, but the adjacent houses are Muggle-owned. That would mean we should have our peace from reporters and fans.”

“It sounds good,” Harry frowned. “Almost too good. What kind of family friend is this, exactly?”

“Not the kind you’re imagining,” Draco replied, raising one eyebrow. “They are a respectable pureblood family, but the eldest son married a Muggle-born and was disowned. This is his brother she is referring to. I’d imagine he’d have some sympathy with my situation.”

“I see,” Harry nodded.

“She says the apartment was to be advertised next week, but he would hold off alerting the Prophet if we’d like to have a look at it,” Draco continued. “If we answer by tonight, we could arrange a meeting with him tomorrow.”

“Well,” Harry shrugged. “We could look at it, alright. Are you sure there’s nothing fishy about this, though? No ludicrous rent? No house elf heads on the walls?”

“What’s your fascination with these heads?,” Draco snorted, shaking his head. “She hasn’t said anything about the rent, just that he would cut us a fair deal.”

“Hm,” Harry pursed his lips.

“Why the scepticism?,” Draco frowned. “Is it because Mother suggested it?”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “You know I made my peace with your mother, Draco.”

“Good. So can we look at it?”

“Sure,” Harry gave in. “I mean, it’s not like we have anything to lose.”

“Exactly,” Draco nodded, rolling up his mother’s letter again. “Granger, could you lend me some parchment and a quill?” As Hermione scrambled to comply, Draco pulled some crackers he had brought from lunch out of his pocket and handed them to Harry. “Feed Adonis before we send him back, will you?,” he asked.

Harry looked up at the owl perching on Draco’s shoulder hesitantly. It was eyeing him with sharp, critical eyes, before finally, it seemed to decide that Draco’s judgement could be trusted, and resettled onto Harry’s arm. As the owl munched away on the crackers, Harry reached out to pet its soft feathers. They were nice and soft, and with a burning pain, he missed Hedwig. It had been a long time since he’d thought about his deceased owl, and had allowed himself to feel the hole she had left in his life. Maybe, Harry thought, it was time for a new pet, and for him to stop lingering on the losses of the past.

“We should get an owl,” he said suddenly, making Draco look up from the letter he was composing.

“What?,” he asked.

“An owl,” he repeated. “If we’re going to live together, it would be practical to have one. Not to mention that I’d like having one around again.”

Draco’s eyes softened in understanding, probably remembering the snowy owl Harry had used to own as well. If he did, though, he did not comment on it.

“Alright,” Draco nodded. “Adonis is a family owl anyways, so I can’t take him. Let’s get one together, then.”

Harry smiled, ruffling Adonis’ feathers once more, feeling more than ever the approach of a new chapter in his life, and liking it.

  


At about ten minutes to eleven the next morning, Harry and Draco apparated in a quiet corner of St. Colme Street, sheltered from curious Muggle eyes by bushes and trees.

“Are you sure this is it?,” Harry asked, frowning at what was apparently a parking lot.

“It’s the nearest apparition point,” Draco explained. “Our other option would have been Rose Street, but I don’t really fancy apparating straight into the Wizarding District with you.”

Harry shuddered at the idea and shook his head.

“Too right,” he sighed. “Lead the way, please.”

They didn’t have to walk far - at the next crossing, they turned into Charlotte Street, and after five more minutes, they reached the southern end of it.. The neighborhood seemed nice, Harry had to admit - neither too lively or too quiet, neither too posh nor too downtrodden. Number Nine appeared on the left side, a three-story building with a light facade and a tea room on the first floor. A wizard in dark blue, elegant robes was leaning against the fence of the front yard, an easy smile on his face as he watched them approach. He seemed young, probably in his twenties, and had a light colouring not unlike Draco, though his hair was more of a dirty blond and his eyes a deep blue.

“Draco,” he called, pushing himself off the fence and approaching them. “I haven’t seen you in ages, not since before the war. You look good.”

“Thanks,” Draco chuckled. “You too. Real Estates seem to suit you.”

The man shrugged sheepishly and held out his hand for Harry to shake.

“Kian Selwyn,” he introduced himself. “Nice to meet you, Mr Potter. Now, let’s please get inside before the Muggle neighbours stare too much at our robes.”

He flashed them another easy smile before he turned and walked them towards the entrance door, pulling it open and holding it for Harry and Draco to slip inside.

“The shop down here belongs to Mrs Steinbeck, a nice witch in her fifties,” he explained as they climbed up the stairs to the second floor. “She’d be living across from you, with her daughter who helps out in the shop. She graduated from Hogwarts shortly before the war started. Upstairs, there’s a young couple with a three-year-old son, the Kindalls, and an old lady in her nineties, Mrs Tingle. None of them have been especially troublesome in the years I handled them, so I think you wouldn’t have any problems with your neighbors, if you decided to take the place.” He stopped in front of the door to their left, producing a set of keys and unlocking the door. “There you go,” he smiled, gesturing for them to enter.

Harry followed Draco inside, taking in his surroundings. The corridor was small, with just enough space to hang some jackets and store some shoes, and to their left, a door let to a small bathroom. As they stepped further inside, though, the corridor let to a spacey and bright living room with an open kitchen area on one side, a middle-sized dining table and a three-piece suite on the other. Bookshelves lined the walls, and from the windows, Harry could look into a small backyard dominated by a couple of trees.

“The furniture wouldn’t stay,” Kian said casually, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I just conjured some stuff to make it look more homely. The kitchen is included, though, and it’s wizarding friendly, so the appliances won’t interact too much with the magic. There is electricity, though, in case you should need it.”

“I doubt it,” Draco snorted, eyeing the kitchen suspiciously. Harry had to bite down on a smile. He would bet all the gold in his vault that Draco had never cooked in his life.

“The bedroom is through here,” Kian continued, pushing himself off the kitchen counter to open the second door in their backs. “There’s another, bigger bathroom through there, too.”

Draco hummed, walking over to check out the room. Harry followed him. The bedroom was smaller than the living room but wide enough to accommodate a King Sized bed and a cupboard. The door to the second bathroom was on the right-sided wall, and it stood open, revealing a bathtub to their view.

“It looks really nice,” Draco commented absentmindedly as he peered out of the window. “Pretty much what we were looking for, actually. How is the security?”

“There are in-built wards, but feel free to add your own,” Kian answered. “The Wizarding traffic isn’t too bad, either, despite the proximity to Rose Street. Most apparate straight there and don’t bother coming out here.” He threw a look at Harry, grinning. “I would try keeping your new address out of the Prophet, though,” he joked. “Not that it wouldn’t be great promotion for me, but I’d hate to deal with the other residents’ complaints if hordes of fans turned up every day in their front yard.”

“Will do,” Harry promised, shuddering at the image.

“So,” Draco asked, turning to look at Kian and raising one eyebrow. “What do you want for the place?”

Kian shrugged, his smile growing just a little.

“Your Mum and I made a fair deal if you decide to take it.”

“That means?,” Draco prodded. “Give me a number.”

“Nah,” Kian snorted. “I promised to let her handle it.” Draco rolled his eyes, but let it drop, apparently knowing better than to go against his mother on this. “Honestly,” Kian continued, sobering a little. “And I’m not saying this because I want to sell, but as someone who’s known you since before you could even speak - this is a good place, Draco, and the price I’ll give you is far under what I would normally charge. The neighbourhood is quiet, but central, and the other residents won’t come screaming at me once they see your mark, if you know what I mean. I’m not sure you’ll find anything better in the Prophet.”

“I suspect as much, too,” Draco agreed, locking eyes with Harry. “How long until we have to decide?”

“Tonight, if possible,” Kian said. “The advertisement goes out tomorrow otherwise, and then you will have competition.”

“Okay,” Draco nodded. “We’ll let you know. Let us just meet up with Mother first.”

“To get a number out of her?,” Kian chuckled. “Good luck with that.”

“Thanks,” Draco snorted. “I’ll need it.”

  


“So,” Draco began as they had said their goodbyes to Kian and strolled back towards the apparition point. “What do you think?”

“I liked it,” Harry replied honestly. “And there do not seem to be any hidden pureblood traps, as far as I can tell.”

“I knew that was what you were worried about,” Draco rolled his eyes. “I told you, the Selwyn family is respectable. There was nothing to worry about.”

“Your family’s definition of ‘respectable’ doesn’t quite match with mine, sometimes,” Harry pointed out, holding up his hand when Draco glared. “But I recede in this point. The place really does seem perfect.”

“I think so, too,” Draco smiled, casually hooking his pinky through Harry’s as they walked. “I can see us living there.”

Harry grinned, warmth spreading through him at those words. “Me too,” he agreed.

“It’s settled, then?,” Draco checked, and when Harry nodded, he sighed in relief. “Good. Now we just have to deal with Mother.”

“Will you owl her?,” Harry asked.

“No,” Draco grimaced. “She’s waiting for us at the Three Broomsticks. That is, if you’re okay with meeting up with her.”

“Of course I am,” Harry assured Draco, though he felt slightly nervous at the prospect of seeing Narcissa Malfoy face to face for the first time since the Malfoy family’s trial this summer. “I assume she knows we’re a couple?”

“No,” Draco rolled her eyes. “She just proposed a one-bedroom apartment to her gay son to share with another boy as an experiment. Let’s see if we can turn the Boy Who Lived into The Boy Who Played For The Other Team.”

“Very funny,” Harry rolled his eyes, but smiled as Draco properly entwined their fingers and pulled him towards the parking lot that housed their apparition spot.

“Don’t worry about Mother,” Draco shrugged. “She’s come to think very highly of you ever since the war. Drives Father insane.”

“Good,” Harry grinned, letting himself be pulled close to Draco. The uncomfortable, repressive feeling of the Apparition stopped him from saying anything further, though, and he took a deep breath when they found themselves back in Hogsmeade.

“Ready?,” Draco checked, nodding towards the pub behind Harry and squeezing his hand.

“Sure,” Harry smiled, squeezing back.

  


The elegant figure of Narcissa Malfoy looked so out of place in the middle of the busy pub that Harry had to suppress a smirk. She had her legs crossed and was sitting in a very straight posture on a chair towards the back, fingering the cup of tea in front of her and looking as though she regretted their choice of venue deeply. Still, when she spotted them across the room, she planted an honest smile on her face and stood to greet them.

“Darling,” she said, reaching out to hug her son. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too, Mother,” Draco returned as she released him.

“Mr Potter,” Narcissa said politely, turning to face him and offering her hand for him to shake. “I hope you’ve been well.”

“I have, thank you,” Harry returned in what he hoped was not too stiff a tone, shaking her hand. “And thank you for the support regarding our search.”

“Don’t mention it,” she waved off, gesturing for them to sit across from her. “So, did you meet Kian? How did you like the apartment? I know it’s nothing fancy, but since Draco said you wanted something simple…”

“It’s perfect,” Draco assured her. “Just what we’ve been looking for, actually.”

“Oh, how wonderful!,” she smiled in relief. “So, do you want it? If so, I will handle the formalities with Kian.”

“Yes,” Draco began slowly. “About that, Mother…”

She raised an eyebrow at her son in a gesture so Draco-ish that Harry had to bite his lip to keep from smiling.

“Yes, Draco?”

“Shouldn’t we be the ones to handle it?,” he asked tentatively. “Especially seeing that Harry will be the one who has to advance the money until I find a job.”

Narcissa looked at him as if she wasn’t sure where to start lecturing.

“Okay, first,” she said, tapping her long, neatly manicured nails patiently against the worn wood of the table. “You of all people should know that it’s in no way or form a bad thing to use family connections to your own advantage. All I am doing is cutting you a nice deal before you get the contract sent to you.”

“And we’re thankful for that!,” Draco injected immediately.

“Second,” she continued as if Draco hadn’t spoken. “You cannot honestly think that I would leave you without funds. Who do you take me for, darling?!”

“I-” Draco started, before holding in, his face blank. “What?”

Narcissa tutted, her face sour as she reached into the pockets of her robes, withdrawing an old-fashioned key which she pushed towards Draco across the table.

“I was going to give this to you later,” she explained pointedly. “But as you brought it up.”

Draco stared at the key incredulous, not taking it.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered.

“Your father might have disowned you from Malfoy side,” she shrugged, her tone rather smug. “But I am the one who has control over what remains of the Black heritage, and believe me, it is enough for you not to need to worry about renting a small apartment in Edinburgh.”

“You’re entrusting me with the Black fortune?,” Draco asked, his voice shaky.

“Well, I opened a vault in Gringotts under your name and transferred about half of the money to you,” she informed him. “This way, your father can’t reach it. I'm keeping the other half because I have my own plans with them, but you will still inherit it in due time, and I assure you that I will have doubled the amount until then. Not to mention that I intend to outlive your father, which means I will have free reign over the Malfoy fortune, too, and I will make sure it all ends up in your hands.”

“Mother,” Draco whispered, and Harry noted that his hands were shaking. “I don’t know what to say.”

Narcissa smiled and reached out to take one of his shaking hands into hers, her eyes gentle.

“I’m sorry things have been so tough on you, darling,” she said. “But never doubt that you will have my support, not even for a second. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, my boy.”

Immediately, Harry remembered the way Narcissa had lied to Voldemort in the Dark Forest almost exactly a year ago, declaring him dead just to be able to get to her son. He didn’t doubt her words in the slightest.

Draco took a deep breath, squeezing her hands and smiling softly.

“Thank you, Mother,” he returned. “You’re the best.”

“Of course I am,” she grinned, and Harry saw so much of Draco in her that he couldn’t help but grow a little fond of her, too. “And now stop making that face and let your mother help you out.”

“Yes, Mother,” he chuckled, finally releasing her hand and picking up the key. “Forget I ever said anything.”

“I will,” she said graciously. “Now, if you have nothing to add, I will go and talk to Kian. Is that alright with you, Mr Potter?”

Harry froze, not having expected being addressed directly.

“Of course, Mrs Malfoy,” he said. “Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t mention it, please,” she waved him off. “All I want in return is for you to take care of my son.” She fixed him with a firm look at that, and Harry suppressed the need to sit a little straighter under her scrutiny.

“I will,” he promised, meaning it with every fibre of his being.

“Good,” she nodded, once, before getting to her feet. “Now that this is settled, I have work to do. Please say hello to Pansy and Blaise for me, Draco. And wait for Kian’s owl.”

“Will do,” Draco nodded, standing to kiss her cheek. “Thanks a lot, Mother.”

“You’re welcome, my dear,” she smiled, and with a small wave, she took off towards the door.

Draco sat back down, raising the key in his hand to his face and looking at it with a weird mix of relief and incredulity.

“I guess I needn’t have worried that much,” he shook his head.

“Obviously,” Harry chuckled, moving a little closer to him. “Seems like you need to learn to rely a bit more on the people who care about you.”

Draco elbowed him for that, but he was smiling.

“Fine,” he muttered. “I learned my lesson.”

Harry smirked, and leaned in to catch his lips in a kiss.

“People might see,” Draco warned him, speaking against his mouth.

“I don’t care,” Harry whispered, deepening the kiss to shut him up effectively.

  


“So, it’s official,” Ron muttered as they walked down to the Quidditch pitch for their last Eighth Year Match. “You’re moving in with Malfoy.”

“Yes,” Harry confirmed patiently, looking over to where Draco was walking ahead of them, in a deep discussion with Sally Smith. “We signed the contract, and he’ll send us the key at the beginning of June, so we can move in as soon as we graduate.”

“Really, though?,” Ron asked, making a face. “Malfoy?”

“If I remember correctly, you were the one to tell me to make a move on him,” Harry snorted.

“I meant for you to shag him,” “Ron grumbled. “Not to shack up with him.”

“Oh, shut it,” Harry groaned, flushing uncomfortably at Ron’s words.

“I guess that means I have to get used to the idea that he’ll be around from now on,” Ron mused, though he did not sound as bitter as he could have. “I guess if you’re happy, I can deal with it.”

“You’ll have to,” Harry rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“That good of a shag?”

“Oh, stop it,” Harry snapped, fighting against the heat rising in his cheeks. His mind was wandering in that direction more and more without the help of his best friend, and it was becoming very distracting. Nothing had yet happened between them, apart from their more and more heated snogging sessions, but his desire for Draco was getting hard to conceal lately. It was strange for Harry, to feel this sexually charged - things had never gone that far with Ginny, and now, Harry wondered if that should have told him something back then.

He shook his head, trying to focus on the upcoming match. It was the final of their little competition, and while, with Team Sapphire’s victory in April, they were head to head with three wins each, Harry’s team was slightly ahead in terms of points. 970 to 920. This was no distance at all, though, as Harry knew by experience, and if he lost the race to the Snitch to Draco today, they most probably would lose the title.

Not that there was much to lose, apart from the galleons it would take to get the other team (and Seamus) drunk afterwards, but still, it was a matter of pride. Harry wanted to be a professional Seeker. How much of a shot did he have if he couldn’t even beat his boyfriend in a school competition?

As if Draco had felt Harry’s eyes on the back of his head, he turned to throw Harry a smirk. He knew the Slytherin would never make it easy on him. It was a good thing Draco wasn’t pursuing a career in Quidditch, since he would forever be Harry’s weakness.

  


It was probably the most heated match the Eighth Years had played all year. Both team’s chasers were on fire, scoring one goal after the other, despite Ron and Sally’s best efforts at keeping their goal posts clean. Harry and Draco were no exception from the furious struggle. Three times they had already chased each other to the Snitch, using all means legally available to outfly the other before they had lost sight of the little golden ball once more.

“Harry, mate,” Ron called up to him after almost an hour, visibly out of breath from the Quaffle he had just blocked from Terry. “No pressure and all, but it would be really nice if you could catch the Snitch sometime soon. I’m exhausted.”

“No stamina, Weasley?,” Draco snickered, but he, too, was sweating so much that his blond hair clung to his face.

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Ron groaned, before directing his attention to Dean, who was approaching him fast.

“Weasley isn’t wrong, though,” Draco chuckled, smirking at Harry. “As the future star of the Quidditch league, your inability to win against me is almost embarrassing, darling.”

“You just wait,” Harry grumbled, flushing at the endearment. “We’ll see who laughs at the end.”

“Oh, I will laugh, and drink your pockets empty in celebration, dear,” Draco grinned, and if it hadn’t been the middle of the match, Harry would have kicked him.

It was then, though, that the smile fell from Draco’s face, replaced by an expression of concentration and determination that Harry knew could only mean one thing. Draco dived towards the ground, and Harry followed, cursing as he saw the Snitch lingering just above the ground near Sally’s left goal post. He wasn’t far behind the Slytherin, though, and just as the Snitch had noted their approach and accelerated in flight, Harry had caught up with him, and they chased behind the little ball side by side.

The Snitch took them halfway through the stands, then up into the air until the voices from their team mates had almost disappeared underneath the rushing of the wind, before diving down again. All the time, Harry and Draco followed in its shadow, desperately trying to get close enough to close a fist around it. It was when the Snitch took a turn right around the Hufflepuff stands that Draco had to take a detour towards the left to avoid crashing into the Badger-covered flag, and Harry knew it was his chance. He stretched desperately, the wings fluttering harshly against his fingertips, and just when Draco reappeared behind the stands, he closed his fist around the struggling ball.

He could hear Draco groan in frustration the same moment as Harry yelled out, and Seamus’ whistle carried across the field.

“Potter catches the Snitch! 150 points to Team Ruby! They win with 360 to 220 points, and are therefore the winner of our Championship!”

The cheers of Ron, Michael and Megan reached his ears, and as soon as his feet hit the ground, he found himself enveloped by his teammates. When they released him, he found Draco glaring at him with his arms crossed, looking displeased and adorably ruffled.

“ I hate losing to you,” Draco grumbled as he reached him, making Harry laugh.

“One would think after all these years, you would be used to it,” Harry teased, resulting in Draco reaching for his broom in an attempt to hit him with it. Harry jumped back just in time. “Now, now!,” Harry chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. “You don’t want to damage me. I was under the impression you quite liked me. Remember?”

“I seem to have temporarily forgotten,” Draco groaned, trying once more to poke Harry into the side with the tip of his broomstick before giving up with a huff. “Right now I just remember how infuriating you are. Perfect Potter with his perfect broom-”

Harry shut him up by approaching him in quick steps and pressing his lips against Draco’s. The other made sounds of protest, but when Harry caught his wrists to hold him still, he unwillingly relaxed.

“I hate you,” Draco muttered sulkily when they came up for air.

“I know,” Harry grinned, letting go of Draco with one hand and smoothing his sweaty hair off his forehead. “But it won’t get you out of inviting us all for drinks at the Three Broomsticks.”

“Good thing for you I’m rich again,” Draco rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. “I’m not carrying you back up to the castle, though. If you get too drunk, I’ll just leave you near the forest for the centaurs to molest.”

Harry mock-gasped, and finally, Draco cracked a smile, slinging his free arm around Harry as they followed their teammates towards the showers. Seamus and Ron turned to them to mock Draco, who rolled his eyes and returned something scathing, and Harry smiled as he watched the exchange, marveling at how unexpectedly easy life had become, at long last.

  



	10. June ( + Epilogue: July)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws herself down on her knees* I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO HORRIBLY LONG!! I have no excuse other than that I was stuck at one scene and could not bring myself to push past it. Now that I had some time throughout the holidays though I finally managed to finish it. 
> 
> At one point, there will be a sequel to this story (in the form of a one-shot), because the sequel was the original idea that started the whole story in the first place. I cannot make any promises on a posting date though. I will write it when I feel like it, and throw it at you out of nowhere! ;) 
> 
> Also one big shoutout to TrickyPuck, whose comment gave me an idea that I ended up integrating into the story. You know which one. And another, even bigger shoutout to my sis, who keeps fighting herself through my sea of snippets and gives me her opinions.
> 
> And one last giant thank you to everyone who read, commented and cheered for me throughout the process of writing and posting this story. I love you all and this is dedicated to you!
> 
> Now, enough talk. Please enjoy the last chapter and the epilogue.

Chapter Ten: June

  


As June rolled around and the NEWT examinations moved closer, Draco progressively lost his calm. Though Harry did not voice this out loud (at least not to Draco’s face, though there had been some mumbled conversations between him and Ron when they were sure not to be overheard), the Slytherin had started to remind him of a more hysterical Hermione. Harry tried his best to distract his boyfriend from the pressure he was creating for himself to make sure he would not get crushed by it, but the more he tried, the more likely Draco was to snap at him - and when that happened, the blonde always felt even worse afterwards, which, in turn, made Harry feel horrible.

“Stop driving yourself mental,” Harry pleaded with him after one too many such events. “We both know you’re going to ace your NEWTS! I’d be surprised if your results don’t rival Hermione’s, to be honest. There is absolutely no need to go overboard like this!”

“Yes, there is!” Draco sighed, hugging his knees close to his chest where he was sitting next to Harry on his bed, looking entirely miserable. “These examiners are going to see my name and my history before my performance. They will have a negative mindset about me before I even cast the first spell. So I can’t afford to make any mistakes, or I will prove them right!”

“They can’t treat you differently from anyone else,” Harry pointed out sharply. “If they do, you need to report it.”

“Yes,” Draco laughed darkly. “Because the Ministry will take my word over theirs!”

“McGonagall will,” Harry reminded him. “I will.” Draco rolled his eyes at the last one, and Harry quickly pressed on, unwilling to go down the _‘I don’t want you to come to my rescue, Harry!’_ road once more. “Anyways, the more nervous you are, the more likely you are to make mistakes. So stop worrying yourself sick. It won’t do you any good.”

“It’s easy for you to talk,” Draco muttered. “It will be the opposite for you. They’ll see your name and will note down an ‘O’ out of sheer gratitude.”

“Yes, because that’s exactly what I want,” Harry returned sourly.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Draco sighed. “I know you don’t want any special treatment. But this is our reality, Harry. You’re the Savior, and I’m the Death Eater, and they will want to grade us accordingly.”

“I’m going to get decent grades because I worked hard and I deserve them,” Harry said, with an air of finality. “And so are you, Draco. Or so help me. I have quite good connections to the Minister of Magic, and I promise in this case I won’t shy away from using them.”

Draco snorted, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“I can see you blasting down the door of the Minister’s office and throwing a tantrum,” he shook his head. “Merlin help us all.”

“I’ve been told I can be quite intimidating when I’m angry,” Harry shrugged, his voice casually. “So I wouldn’t push me if I were you.”

“So you’re going to throw a fit at me if I study?” Draco asked, his voice sarcastic but amused.

“No,” Harry amended. “I’m going to bind you to your bed and force you to relax if you keep walking up and down the walls.” It took both of Draco’s raised eyebrows for Harry to realise what he had just insinuated.

“Well, that sounds kinky,” Draco drawled, grey eyes flashing. “If that was supposed to frighten me, you failed spectacularly.”

“Oh, shut it!,” Harry groaned, deeply flushed as he grabbed Draco’s pillow and threw it into his face.

In the end, Harry did not need to tie the Slytherin up and molest him (as much as he might have wanted to). The examination period started without any major mental breakdowns, much to Harry’s relief, and left them to occupied to even worry. The only times in the whole span of two weeks that Harry remembered spending with anything other than course notes, exams, food or sleep was the afternoon Draco and Hermione had written their Arithmancy exam and he had used the opportunity to drag Ron along to buy Draco’s birthday present, and on the evening of Draco’s actual birthday, when he had invited his boyfriend out to dinner in Hogsmeade.

Despite Draco’s initial protest, he had quite enjoyed the evening out, and he had looked very pleased when Harry presented him with his present, a gorgeous and friendly barn owl that turned her head to let Draco pet her.

“Is this a gift for you or for me?” Draco had teased Harry, but he knew that his boyfriend had understood the message behind Harry’s present: a shared pet as a symbol of the life they planned to share from now on. Draco had named the bird Iris, the Greek goddess of the sea and sky and the messenger of the gods, and he seemed as fond of her as Harry was.

So in general, everything went fairly well, until the last day of exams. They had the morning free, as none of them was taking History of Magic on NEWT level (Harry silently wondered why anyone would), but their practical exam in Defence Against the Dark Arts was scheduled for the afternoon. It had been the one Draco had been most afraid of to begin with, and he was silent and unresponsive all morning, practising wand movements and skimming through his notes.

When it was time for their actual examination, they were called into the designated room alphabetically. Draco was standing next to him as they waited, fingers shaking so hard that Harry took his hand in his in an attempt to calm him down. But when Draco’s name was called, he still looked pale and slightly sick.

Parkinson and both Patil twins entered the room before Harry was called, and when it was his turn, Draco had already left. Professor Tofty was waiting for him, the same examiner that had taken Harry’s OWL exam on this subject, and he was in a cheerful mood as he instructed Harry to perform various spells. Harry didn’t have any trouble with any of them, and the aged Professor seemed very pleased with his competence.

“Now, Mr Potter, I remember that you already showed me a rather impressive corporeal Patronus three years ago,” he said with a smile. “But I still need to see it once more before we can close this round. So, if you would please?”

Harry nodded and closed his eyes, taking a moment to recall the feeling of kissing Draco and letting it envelop him.

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Harry called. He could feel the magic flow from his hand to his wand, and opened his eyes, expecting to see his usual stag standing between him and the Professor.

What he ended up seeing, though, made him stare incredulously.

The Patronus was so huge he couldn’t see the Professor through it and so broad that Lisa Turpin, who was taking her exam with Professor Marchbanks right next to them, had to step aside to make room for it. The creature was not nearly a stag, either; it flapped its giant wings, wriggled its long, shimmering tail and threw a look backwards at Harry over its shoulder. Stunned, he looked into the shining eyes of a dragon.

“Oh, how marvellous!” he heard Professor Tofty call. “Is that an Antipodean Opaleye? Remarkable! I haven’t seen a Patronus taking the form of a magical creature in years! But didn’t it use to be a different shape?”

“It used to be a stag,” Harry confirmed, smiling as the dragon sniffed and lay down on the floor, curling up peacefully between them. He watched fondly as the spell ended and it faded away.

“I see,” Professor Tofty answered, a smile on his face as he noted something down on his writing board. “Thank you very much, Mr Potter. You may leave.”

  


Harry was still grinning when he left the examination room, feeling ecstatic, but all that fell away immediately as he spotted Draco.

The Slytherin was curled up on the bench outside the door, reminding Harry strongly of his Dragon Patronus, but instead of peaceful, he looked shell-shocked and utterly broken. Parkinson had her hand on his shoulder, murmuring to him, and Hermione was sitting on his other side, talking frantically. Harry rushed over to them and bend down to touch Draco’s cheek.

“What happened?” he asked gently.

“He got duped, that’s what happened!” Pansy hissed angrily. “Professor Atwater had it in for him! He was trying to fail him!”

“What did he do?” Hary demanded, his jaw clenching, but Draco did not meet his eyes. It was Hermione who answered.

“It seems like he asked him to perform a bunch of spells that were not on our curriculum,” she said grimly, the same flash in her eyes that she always got when she was very angry about something. “I don’t even know some of them, but the _Cruentatur_ Curse is definitely dark, and illegal, for that matter. My guess is that he was trying to mock Draco.”

“He asked me for a Patronus, in the end,” Draco whispered. “But I was so out of it I… couldn’t.”

Harry gaped, outraged.

“We have to report this!” he called, straightening up. “That prick can’t get away with this!”

“I agree,” Hermione nodded. “If Professor McGonagall knew about this-”

“If I knew about what, Miss Granger?” the Headmistress’ voice suddenly came from behind him, and Harry whirled around.

Professor McGonagall was approaching them in fast steps, a deep frown on her face, her eyes focused on Draco.

Harry, Hermione and Parkinson all started talking at once.

“The examiner was prejudiced! You can’t let them-”

“The spells he asked for were ridiculous! We never even learned them!”

“He thinks because Draco has the Dark Mark on his arm he can treat him like scum, but-”

McGonagall held up both her hands, making them fall silent. She was still looking at Draco.

“Mr Malfoy?” she asked, matter of factly. “Did the examiner ask you to perform spells that were not on the curriculum?”

Draco looked up hesitantly, and nodded.

“Who was the examiner?” she continued questioning.

“Professor Atwater,” he returned, his voice rough and raw.

“Understood. I will talk to him after the last student has finished, and you will retake your exam with someone else, Mr Malfoy,” she looked grim as Dean came out of the examination room, glancing at them in puzzlement. “I won’t let any of my students be treated unfairly, no matter what might have happened in their past.”

With that, she stepped through the door Dean was still holding open, and he looked after her, before frowning at Harry and Hermione.

“Who got treated unfairly?” he asked.

He could hear Hermione fill him in, but Harry took the place she had abandoned, sitting next to Draco and putting his arm around his waist.

“Calm down,” he whispered, kissing Draco’s temple. “You will just take it again. Don’t let that pillock get to you. It’s what he wants.”

“I don’t think I can do it, Harry,” Draco whispered, his voice choked. “When I tried to produce a Patronus earlier, I just… It wouldn’t come. I really tried, but-”

“You were panicking,” Harry interrupted him, tightening his hold on the blonde. “Just calm down, and focus on a happy memory. You can do it. I’ve seen you do it.”

When Draco did not answer, Harry grabbed his chin with his free hand and gently turned Draco’s head to face him.

“You can do it,” Harry insisted. “I believe in you.” And before Draco could return anything, he leaned in to kiss him deeply.

They did not resurface from the kiss until Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

“Mr Malfoy,” she said, her voice cool and neutral but her eyes crinkled just so slightly, as if she would have smiled if it had been appropriate for her to do so. “Professor Tofty is waiting for you.”

Draco took a deep breath, but there was a flush back in his cheeks, Harry noted, and he wasn’t shaking any longer.

As Draco disappeared back into the room, Harry waited with Hermione, Parkinson, Ron and Zabini, who had been filled in by the girls while Harry had tried to calm Draco. Zabini was cursing Professor Atwater on top of his lungs, unconcerned of who might overhear, and it endeared him to Harry ever so slightly.

Draco returned about five minutes later, looking relieved. McGonagall’s loud and angry voice reached them from inside before he closed the door behind himself.

“And?” Parkinson asked, hurrying towards him.

“Better,” Draco breathed. “I might have overdone my _Relashio_ a little, but Professor Tofty just seemed amused by that, so I’m not sure if it will cost me points.”

“And the Patronus?” Harry asked, taking his hand.

Draco just smiled and squeezed his hand. It was all the answer Harry needed.

  


As they returned to their Eighth Year Common Room, the end of the exams had turned the atmosphere amongst the students relieved and cheerful - Harry spotted the Patil twins across the room with Hannah, Susan and Lisa, giggling over the newest issue of _Witch Weekly_ , and Seamus was talking energetically among a group in front of the fireplace, his arm thrown around Lavender.

“Malfoy!” Dean called from where he was sitting across from Seamus when he saw them enter. “Did things with your DADA exam work out in the end?”

“It did, thanks!” Draco smiled. “I retook it!”

“Good,” Dean grinned, and then added: “We decided to all go down to the Hogs Head tonight. Aberforth promised us a round in celebration. Will the lot of you coming?”

Harry looked from Draco to Hermione and Ron, who was already nodding enthusiastically.

“Sure,” Harry agreed.

“You’re coming, too,” Draco said decisively, and when Harry turned to look at him, he saw the blonde’s gaze fixed on Parkinson and Zabini.

Parkinson sighed. “Do we have to?" she whined, making a face. “It’s so dirty down there…”

“It will do you good to socialize,” Draco shrugged, dismissing her comment. “And it will do me good to not be the only Slytherin in the room.”

Zabini muttered something of which Harry could only catch “not our fault” and “flock of Gryffindor morons”, but he did not openly protest Draco’s words, which Harry by now knew to interpret as agreement.

“Harry! Malfoy!" Roger called from the doorway towards the dormitory. “Your owl is here! One of you has mail!”

“Thanks, Roger!” Harry returned, and he pulled on Draco’s hand until the other followed him towards their dorm.

Iris was sitting on the windowsill when they entered the room, and with a soft hoot, she flew towards them and landed on Draco’s shoulder. With another hoot, she dropped a letter into Harry’s hands.

“It’s from the National Quidditch Association,” Harry muttered, tensing in nervous. “Oh, bloody hell.”

“Just open it!” Draco said eagerly. “It will be your offers!”

“What if I don’t have offers?” Harry muttered. “What if-”

“Now, _really_?” Draco rolled his eyes, snatching the letter away from him to tear it open himself. “If you don’t have any offers I’ll eat my firebolt for dinner. Alright, let’s see… _Dear Mr Harry James Potter, the National Quidditch Association is pleased to forward you the offers you received from teams of the British and Irish Quidditch League._ There you go! _If you wish to enter any contract negotiations, please be sure to owl the contact person stated within your offer,_ yadda yadda, okay, let’s see who is interested in enrolling you on their paycheck!”

Draco carelessly handed the first page he had just read off to Harry, as if he was no more than an assistant and not the subject of the mail in his hands. He scanned the next page hastily, gasping.

“What?!” Harry asked impatiently.

“You got a bloody offer from the bloody Montrose Magpies!” he called. “It’s for the Reserve Seeker position, though, but damn, this is the most successful team in the league! There’s more, though,” he pushed that paper at Harry, too, and then exclaimed: “Reserve Seeker position for the Ballycastle Bats! Blimey, that’s the top two teams you have there!”

“Give that here,” Harry demanded, trying to take the remaining documents from Draco, but he held them out of his reach, jumping to the next page.

“And there’s a starter position for the Appleby Arrows! And another from Pride of Portree! That’s four offers! I _told_ you they’d lick their fingers to contract you, Wonder Boy!”

“Don’t call me that,” Harry complained, and finally, he managed to snatch all the offers away from Draco, looking through them in excitement. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Four offers.”

“I can’t believe the Magpies and the Bats are interested,” Draco laughed. “Merlin’s beard, Harry, that must have been some tryout! Though I’m not sure you should take a reserve position when you can get starter! Sure, the Prides and the Arrows aren’t quite up to their level, but it will be better for your career to get some attention on the field rather than sitting on the bench…”

Draco talked on and on, trying to give him advice and weighing the pros and cons of each team, but Harry only heard half of it, filled with an overwhelming euphoria. He was going to play professional Quidditch in the next season. He was going to do what he loved, and get paid for it! He didn’t have to start at the Ministry to chase dark wizards for the rest of his life, and he wouldn’t have to listen to all the people pushing him into Ministry positions anymore either!

He turned to Draco and gathered him into a sudden, enthusiastic kiss, shutting his babbling up effectively. When they came up to breathe again, Draco was chuckling and raising his eyebrows at Harry.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“For talking me into this,” Harry said, still holding the Slytherin tightly against him. “I would’ve never gone for the tryout if it hadn't been for you!”

“And what a waste for the British Quidditch it would have been,” Draco smirked. “Not to mention the English National Team, where you will end up at some point. I just know it.”

“Draco?” Harry sighed, chuckling.

“What?” he asked innocently.

“Just shut it,” Harry laughed, pulling him into another kiss.

  


Down at the pub that night, Harry was surrounded by people trying to talk him into one offer or the other. Seamus was vehemently talking down the Ballycastle Bats (apparently, they had a long-standing rivalry with his favourite team, the Kenmare Kestrels), while Ron condemned the Montrose Magpies (“You don’t want to play for them, Harry! They’re a bloodsucking team of arseholes!”). Sally, on the other hand, swore her loyalty to the Appleby Arrows, who Terry despised, being a fan of their rival, the Wimbourne Wasps. Ernie talked about the one time his father had taken him to a match in Portree for almost fifteen minutes, while Michael swore that the Prides had only ranked so well last season because of their manager’s affair with the head of the National Quidditch Association. Everyone seemed to have something to say about the matter, and everyone ordered him another drink as they did, which resulted in Harry being drunker than he could ever remember being in the matter of only two hours.

“Draaaacooooo,” Harry whined as he stumbled over to where he was sitting in a corner with Zabini, Parkinson, Hermione and Ginny (whose arrival Harry had completely missed), draping himself completely over his lap in a moment of messed up coordination. “If I’ve to drink one more bloody firewhiskey I’ll… I’ll...” He gestured weakly with his hands, unsure how to end the sentence.

“Throw up all over my expensive trousers?” Draco suggested, but he was smiling. “You can actually say no, you do realize that?” Harry just looked at him blearily, and the blond laughed, patting his head.

“You should probably get him back to the castle,” Hermione suggested, shaking her head in amusement. “I saw Seamus mixing up something with Aberforth and I think it’s better if Harry’s not here when they try to make everyone ingest it.”

“You’re probably right,” Draco sighed. “He’ll end up in the _Prophet_ and I will be blamed for leading The Boy Who Graduated astray…”

“Will not,” Harry brought out with difficulty, but Draco was already dragging him to his feet. There was a moment when the whole pub seemed to be spinning around him, but Draco had a firm arm around his waist and held him steady.

“Do you need any help?” Zabini asked Draco, though he looked as if he would rather swallow whatever Seamus had cooked up instead of accompanying a drunk Harry back to school.

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” Draco promised.

“As long as he doesn’t get sick in the corridors for Filch to see, that is,” Ginny commented, raising her eyebrows in amusement.

Harry looked at her and, remembering that he had wanted to ask her something, he raised his hand to point a finger at her. It ended up more in the direction of Parkinson, who looked slightly alarmed.

“Quidd-” he tried, but his tongue wasn’t quite cooperating. “Quidd-uch… I mean, Quu-”

“I think he’s trying to ask if you got any offers, too,” Draco interrupted Harry, rolling his eyes.

“Yes,” Harry nodded, frowning when his eyes swam. “That.”

“I did,” Ginny chuckled. “Starters for Holyhead Harpies, and Reserve for the Wimbourne Wasps. I owled the Harpies right away. It’s the team I’ve been hoping for from the start.”

Harry stumbled his way through some congratulations, but then Seamus called free rounds for everyone and Draco hurried to drag him out of the pub.

The way back to school seemed much longer than Harry remembered it, and the path was strangely uneven, with lots of rocks to stumble over and unbalance him.

“Merlin, you’re heavy,” Draco complained after a while. “No more Treacle Tarts for you, Mister.”

Harry only spluttered indignantly before he almost fell flat on his face. Draco came to a hold, tightening his grip on him.

“Careful,” he scolded softly, and Harry turned to look at Draco, at his pale skin flushed from the exercise and the blond hair messed up adorably, grey eyes strangely luminous in the moonlight.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry slurred, and Draco smirked.

“And you’re so smashed,” Draco shook his head, which made Harry frown.

“Is true!” Harry said indignantly, and then, because he felt like saying it all of a sudden: “I love you!”

Draco’s expression softened, and he brought up one hand to stroke Harry’s hair from his forehead.

“You will be so flustered if you remember any of this tomorrow, my love,” he teased, but when Harry opened his mouth to argue, he cut him off with a simple: “I love you, too, you drunk fool.” That made Harry close his mouth again, and he smiled, pleased.

“Now let’s get you up to bed,” Draco ordered gently.

“Yes,” Harry agreed, far too eagerly. “You and me. Bed.”

Draco’s eyes widened at that, and he laughed sharply.

“Oh no,” he clarified. “You into your bed, and me into mine. There’ll be no hanky-panky with you drunk up to your eyeballs, Mister.”

Harry frowned, pouting.

“But-”

“No,” Draco repeated, and he started walking again, dragging Harry along.

“But I wanna,” Harry muttered, quite eloquently, he felt. “Been wanting you for weeks.” He noted in satisfaction that Draco flushed at those words.

“As flattering as that is,” Draco returned. “When we go there, I want you sober and completely focused on me. I’ve fantasized about this much longer than you have, and I’m not going to settle for anything less than perfect.”

Harry whined at that, arousal flooding his veins at Draco's words, but Draco did not retaliate. When they reached their dormitory (thankfully without passing Filch or a teacher), he functionally removed Harry’s shoes, trousers and shirt before pushing him under the covers with an air of finality.

“Goodnight,” he said, and when Harry whined in protest, he pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, right on his scar. “Sleep well,” he whispered as he straightened up, but Harry fumbled for his hand.

“Stay,” he pleaded.

“So you can molest me?” Draco challenged, one eyebrow raised.

“No,” Harry promised. “Will be good. Jus’ stay.”

Draco’s eyes softened at that, and in the end, he slipped out of his own clothes and into his pyjamas before joining Harry under the covers. When Harry felt Draco’s warm body press up against his back, he closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep.

  


When Harry woke up the next morning, Draco was still beside him, though he had clearly been awake for a while. He was propped up against the headboard, a book on Alchemy in his hands which he was reading with avid attention. Light was filtering softly through the scarlet curtains, hurting Harry’s eyes and causing a piercing headache to flare up in his temples. He winced, and it alerted Draco to Harry's consciousness. He looked up from his book, biting down on a smile as he took in his face.

“Look who’s back among the living,” he drawled, closing the book and reaching out to pat his head.

Harry, having actually been dead and revived once and therefore knowing the difference, wanted to point out that coming back to the living was actually not half as painful as this, but those were too many words to string together in his current condition. So instead, he whimpered, and Draco chuckled, pulling the curtain aside slightly to retrieve something from Harry’s bedside table.

“Drink this,” he ordered, holding out a vial of violet potion for him to take. “It’s a hangover cure. Granger brought it over earlier.”

Harry grabbed for it blindly and downed it in one go. He was relieved to note that he immediately felt better. Draco handed over his glasses, and when the world became clearer and had stopped spinning, he sat up, copying Draco’s pose.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“You were extremely smashed last night,” Draco said, a note of amusement in his voice. “Do you even remember anything?”

“I do,” said Harry indignantly. “Bits and pieces.” Draco snorted, and it was that moment that his behaviour towards the end of the night, when Draco had all but heaved him back up to the castle, came back to him. He made a face. “I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I made a complete arse of myself, didn’t I?”

“A little,” Draco shrugged, grinning. “It was kind of cute, though, so I forgive you. You are a very affectionate drunk.”

Harry sighed, remembering his inadvertent declaration of love in between all the inappropriate groping.

“For what it’s worth,” Harry muttered, colouring slightly. “I meant every word.”

Draco smiled at that, his eyes soft as he elbowed him.

“So did I,” he said simply.

They sat in silence for a while, and Harry contemplated leaning in to kiss Draco and continue what he had tried to start last night, but before he could find the heart, his boyfriend was kicking him gently in the ankle.

“Go shower, you reek,” he teased. “I’d like to not spend one of my last two days at Hogwarts holed up in this dormitory if I can.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry grumbled, but he was smiling as he got to his feet.

In the bed on the other side of the room, Roger was still out cold, his curtains only half closed and his trunk open, its contents half spilt over the floor as if he had thrown it over last night by stumbling into it. Seemed like Harry wasn’t going to be the only one in need of a hangover cure today.

  


They spent their last weekend at Hogwarts out on the grounds, lazing by the lake, visiting Hagrid or flying. It was nice, as if they were soaking in the last remains of their adolescence, and when they finally found themselves on the train back to London, Harry felt very nostalgic. He had not even planned on coming back to Hogwarts in the first place, but now that he had, it felt strange knowing that he was going to leave it behind for good.

So much had happened throughout this year that it made Harry’s head spin to think back on it. He had been burned out when he had first returned, mentally exhausted in a way that, in retrospective, felt slightly surreal. If anyone had told him that it would be Draco Malfoy who’d pull him out of this hole, he’d have laughed in their faces. But Draco, Harry thought as he watched him bicker with Ginny from the seat next to him, was not the same person he used to be, either. They both had changed and redefined the world they lived in - they had created something new, something that could fit them in side by side, and that belonged to them, and them alone.

Draco looked up, feeling Harry’s eyes on him, and raised an eyebrow in question. Harry smiled and shook his head. He entwined their fingers before he turned to look back out of the window, watching the landscape as they sped away from the only place he had ever called ‘home’, this time for good.

It was alright, though, Harry decided. He had found a new home, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

  


They apparated to St. Colme Street about half an hour after they had arrived at King’s Cross, their luggage shrunk in their pockets and the food that Mrs Weasley had forced upon Harry in a paper bag in his hand. She had spent minutes fussing over Harry and making him promise to come over for dinner the next day to celebrate their graduation before she had allowed him to take off with Draco. Draco had seemed uncomfortable in the Weasley’s proximity, but he had held his head high and had smiled through it, and Harry felt stupidly proud of him.

“Now,” Draco said quietly as they walked down Charlotte Street towards their new home, fumbling with the key in his hand, a sign of nerves. “Mother said she did a little something to the place as a graduation gift. She did not want us to come home to empty rooms. If we don’t like it, we can always change it, she said.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, trying to think back on how the Manor had been furnished and wondering if that was what would expect him in their new apartment now.

He was wrong, though: The decor was tasteful and simple, traditional in a way that did not feel outdated, and that Harry found, with some surprise, he could easily grow used to. Draco was watching him more than he took in his mother’s work, as if nervous that Harry would disapprove and decide to move out, so Harry pulled him into a hug and kissed him deeply until he felt the other boy relax against him.

“It’s perfect,” he whispered. “It feels like us. Like _our_ home.”

Draco smiled at that, leaning his forehead against Harry’s.

“It does,” he agreed.

Their eyes met, and they just looked at each other for a long moment.

“So,” Harry said awkwardly, his fingers tightening on Draco’s robes. “Er. Alone at last, I guess.”

“We’ve been alone before,” Draco pointed out, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Not completely,” Harry argued, flushing. “Not like this. Without the threat of anyone bursting in, and all.”

“Is that your charming way of asking for sex, Harry?” Draco snorted, raising an eyebrow. “It might be a step up from the drunken fumbling, but it’s still not exactly romantic.”

“You’re a prat,” Harry chuckled.

“Never pretended to be anything else,” Draco grinned, and before Harry could return anything, he pulled him into another kiss. Harry wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and let himself be thoroughly kissed. Draco could tease him all he wanted, but him taking the initiative like this told Harry more about how much the Slytherin had wanted for them to have some privacy than any words ever could.

It fell all into place in a way that Harry could not have anticipated months ago; the same way it all had once he had realized his feelings for Draco. Clothes were shed and a minimum of furniture was bumped into on the way into their new bedroom. The sheets and linens were silken and smooth on their skin, a nice contrast to the fire Draco left burning wherever he touched Harry.

Draco’s skin was so pale it was almost glowing under the afternoon sun shining through the windows, catching on his mussed hair, making him look ethereal.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, under his breath, but Draco still caught it, meeting his eyes in puzzlement.

“Hm?” he demanded absentmindedly, drawing his fingers through the trail of hair down Harry’s navel.

“You,” Harry gasped. “You’re beautiful.”

Draco chuckled, but his cheeks coloured ever so slightly.

“You’re an absolute sap, Harry Potter,” he commented. “I’ll go to Rita Skeeter if you continue like that.”

“No, you won’t,” Harry smirked. “You’re much too private for dishing out on our sex life. I think it’s because you enjoy the thought that no one else knows my romantic side quite like you do or something, so don’t you accuse me of being the sappy one here.”

“Shut up,” Draco laughed, and to undermine his words, he lowered his hand farther, his fingers brushing the tip of Harry’s bare erection. Harry gasped. “I’m not doing this right if you’re unable to stop talking,” Draco mused. “I guess I need to step this up.”

“Not stopping you,” Harry noted weakly. “Go ahead.”

Draco hummed, and wrapped his fingers around his shaft. Harry’s brain short-circuited at the touch. His whole existence was reduced to where Draco was touching him, moving his fingers in an experimental manner, so slowly that Harry thought he might spontaneously combust at the feeling. Damn, he had wanted this for way, way too long. He knew he was not going to last.

“Lost your voice now, have you,” Draco whispered, his tone smug.

“I’ll lose more than that if you don’t-” his breath hitched when Draco’s thumb caught on his foreskin, and his hips bucked. “Damn it, _Draco_.”

“It’s a good thing that we have a lot of time to ourselves in the next couple of weeks,” Draco chuckled. “We can experiment to our heart's desire.”

“I like the sound of that,” Harry whispered.

“I thought you would,” Draco nodded. “Now hold still.”

“I thought I was-” Harry began, but his words died on his tongue when Draco slid further down the mattress, until he was facing his crotch.

“Shush,” he said pointedly, and Harry could feel the exhalation on his heated flesh. Then he turned his full attention to the hard-on standing up proudly right in front of him. Harry closed his eyes, fighting down the embarrassment that was irrationally rising up in him at being so exposed in front of anyone, even his boyfriend. When Draco’s lips wrapped around the tip of his erection, though, a moan escaped his lips, and the pleasure overrode all other thoughts in his mind.

As he had predicted, he was overwhelmed way too quickly. Draco’s mouth was unbearably hot, and it did not matter that he was clumsy and inexperienced in his movements. The heat built in his stomach and he had to clench his fingers in the pillow under his head to not knot them in Draco’s hair. It was when he opened his eyes to look at himself disappearing between Draco’s lips, though, that it became decidedly too much. He let out an unidentifiable sound and tumbled over the edge. His whole body tingled from his orgasm and all his others senses seemed to switch to standby - all he knew and felt was Draco’s mouth around him and one stray hand drawing soothing circles on the inside of his thigh.

When his brain slowly started to register sounds again - the rustling of sheets and the creaking of the mattress as Draco crawled back up his body - he tentatively opened his eyes, to find himself face to face with his boyfriend. His lips were slightly puffed and red from his efforts, but his gaze was intense in a way that Harry had rarely ever seen it before - both dark from lust and excruciatingly gentle.

“That was-” Harry began, but Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s, cutting him off.

“Don’t speak,” he breathed against his mouth. “Just touch me. Please.” His words were desperate, and Harry was reminded of what Draco had said the night they had gone out drinking to the Hog's Head - how he had been wanting this for way longer than Harry had.

So Harry took the hint and just wrapped his fingers around Draco’s hard flesh without another word. Draco groaned and rested his sweaty forehead against Harry’s, trapping some strands of damp hair between them. Harry noted he was trembling, and he raised his free hand run it up his back in a comforting gesture, but it just made Draco shudder, and he let out a breathy sound of need.

“Harry,” he whispered, so low that Harry barely caught it, and he bucked his hips, pushing his shaft more insistently into the Gryffindor’s fist.

It was over way too soon, but when Draco threw back his head in a deep groan and his erection pulsed in his hand, Harry found that he did not mind, for the experience of seeing the other boy come undone like this was enough to make his own member twitch once more, despite his recent orgasm.

Draco collapsed on Harry’s chest when he was done, his breathing harsh against where his face was pressed into Harry’s neck.

“Oh Merlin,” he whispered.

“Well,” Harry noted, wrapping his arms tightly around his boyfriend. “We don’t get any points for stealth, do we?”

Draco chuckled at that.

“We’ll have to practice,” he brought out, his voice still breathless. “A lot. I have a lifetime full of fantasies to turn to reality.”

“That’s very intriguing,” Harry smiled, kissing Draco’s temple.

  


  


Epilogue: July

  


Apart from a visit to the Weasley’s here and there, they spent most of their time in bed, dutifully going through the list in Draco’s head. Draco’s touch was addictive to Harry, and despite Ron’s nagging about him not seeing his best friend nearly enough since their graduation, he could not bring himself to give away this magical, honey-moon-ish glow they had going on.

Slowly, though, reality was starting to catch up with them. Harry had to settle on a team to play for next year, and since he could not ponder the matter with Draco’s hands down his pants, he decided to take long walks through the ancient parts of Edinburgh to clear his head and sort his thoughts. He made appointments with the coaches of all teams, listening to their plans for him and having a look at the clubs’ facilities. When he finally made up his mind, his decision landed on Pride of Portree.

“The feeling of the club is just nice, you know?” Harry tried to explain his reasoning to Ron, Hermione and George during Sunday lunch at the Burrow. “It’s a small island, so it feels kind of more intimate than the other clubs. I really like it.”

“I’m glad you found a position you are happy with,” Hermione smiled.

“But it’s a shame to turn down the Bats,” Ron said mournfully.

“They’ll come knocking again at one point or another, if Harry is successful,” George shrugged. “And then they’ll offer him a starter position.”

“Draco said the same thing,” Harry smirked, looking over to where Draco was in deep conversation with Bill.

“So, you took NEWTs in Arithmancy and Alchemy?” he heard Bill say curiously. “Which other subjects?”

“Charms, Ancient Runes, Potions and Transfiguration,” Draco listed.

“You know,” Bill muttered. “That would be perfect for a position at Gringotts.”

“Really?” Draco asked, taken aback. “But would they consider taking someone with… you know, my background?”

“Goblins took no side in the war,” Bill shrugged. “Their priorities are a little different than those of wizarding employers. I’d say if your grades come back satisfactory, you’d have fair chances.”

“Huh,” Draco blinked. “That’s intriguing, actually. I’ll think about it.”

“Tell me if you’re interested,” Bill smiled. “I can build the contact.”

“I will. Thanks,” Draco smiled back.

The results of their N.E.W.T. examinations came only a couple of days later. Draco and Harry were still lying in bed when an owl knocked its beak against the window of their bedroom insistently. Iris, their barn owl, hooted as if in greeting, making Harry open his eyes.

“Who is it?” Draco muttered sleepily. “It’s too early.”

Harry picked up his wand and cast a spell to make the window fly open, allowing the Screech Owl to enter and drop two letters onto their bed before joining Iris onto her perch.

“Draco,” Harry said softly. “It’s our NEWTs.”

Draco froze where his back was still pressed against Harry’s chest, and groaned.

“Oh shit.”

“You want me to open yours?” Harry offered, knowing just how much Draco despaired over his results.

“No,” he sighed, sitting op and pushing the hair out of his eyes. “I’ll do it myself.”

Harry nodded, and picked up his own letter, giving Draco some privacy by focusing on his results first. He tore the envelope open and scanned the letter curiously.

 _Dear Mister Harry James Potter_ , it read,

_please find enclosed a copy of your Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test final grades._

_We would like to take this opportunity to congratulate you on your efforts throughout this academic year, in completing your N.E.W.T.s with clearance from Anti-Cheating Quills and Anti-Cheating Spells and on your successful graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We hope that you have achieved the grades you require to pursue your preferred career path._

_Should you require consultation regarding your career choices, the Career Advice Office within the Education Division of the Ministry of Magic will be glad to assist you._

_Good luck with your professional career!_

_Griselda Marchbanks_  
Governor  
Wizarding Examination Authority  
Education Division  
Ministry of Magic

Harry’s heart fluttered a little, despite his already decided upon career path, as he turned the page and examined his results.

_NASTILY EXHAUSTING WIZARDING TEST RESULTS_

_Pass grades:_  


_Outstanding (O)_  
Exceeded Expectations (E)  
Acceptable (A)

 _Fail grades:_  


_Poor (P)_  
Dreadful (D)  
Troll (T)

  


_HARRY JAMES POTTER HAS ACHIEVED:_

  


_Charms E_

_Defence Against The Dark Arts O_

_Herbology E_

_Potions A_

_Transfigurations E_

  


Harry smiled down at his grades, quite pleased. Those were much better than his OWLs had been - then again, thanks to Draco, he had studied much more than he had even under Hermione’s pressure in fifth year.

He looked over at Draco, who was staring at his own letter with wide eyes, completely unmoving. Carefully, he edged over, sneaking a look at the Slytherin’s results.

  


_DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY HAS ACHIEVED:_

  


_Alchemy O_

_Ancient Runes O_

_Arithmancy O_

_Charms O_

_Defence Against The Dark Arts E_

_Potions O_

_Transfigurations O_

  


Harry grinned and wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist.

“See,” he said. “I told you you’d do fantastic.”

“I guess I should owl Bill, then,” Draco said, sounding numb. “If they don’t take me with these grades, they’re never going to.”

“They will,” Harry ensured him. “They’d be stupid not to.”

Draco leaned into his embrace in response, tipping his head onto Harry’s shoulder and looking at him, his grey eyes sparkling with amazement.

“Last year at this time, all of this seemed impossible to me,” he admitted. “It just hit me how far we’ve come.”

Harry smiled, kissing his lips softly.

“I know what you mean,” he breathed. “But don’t you dare get too comfortable. The journey is only starting, you know?”

Draco grinned at that.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said, and caught Harry’s lips in another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas :D


End file.
